


Home is not a place

by TooRational



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Bullying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Demisexual Daryl Dixon, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, M/M, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-02-27 14:10:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 36,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13249866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooRational/pseuds/TooRational
Summary: Daryl's old man dies right before his seventeenth birthday.Or: The high school!AU in which everyone gets a happy ending and nothing (really bad) happens. <3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chelseylovesllamas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chelseylovesllamas/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Дом - это не место](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15427296) by [Canifoly_Dozdesvet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canifoly_Dozdesvet/pseuds/Canifoly_Dozdesvet)



> Because Aby ([AbigailHT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbigailHT/)) said you need it right now and Aby is the loveliest.
> 
> Hope this helps make your days a bit better. <3

Daryl's old man dies right before his seventeenth birthday.

It's sudden, some kind of a heart attack, they told him. Keeled over in the local bar and never even made it to the hospital. The cops came to the trailer to give him the news and their condolences at midnight, took him to identify the body.

He'd like to say he didn't care at all, stone cold and emotionless, but he did. He cried his eyes out, both at the hospital and at the funeral a few days later. It was so stupid, crying after someone that left him bleeding and sobbing so many times he couldn't even count 'em all, but he couldn't help it.

These tears at least were cathartic and cleansing, full of sorrow and anger and relief, and he felt better after.

Then a problem came up, one that didn't even occur to Daryl.

He was a minor, and he was all alone.

See, Merle was gone, a choice between the army and a prison cell not really a choice at all. Though in all honesty, Merle left long before he enlisted, disappearing when Daryl was eight and coming to visit once a year on Daryl's birthday. And no amount of loud laughter and evenings spent in a cheap diner, later in a seedy bar, could make up for not being there the rest of the year.

So Daryl ended up alone, truly and completely, with nowhere to turn.

It wasn't like he couldn't take care of himself, Daryl was basically on his own since he could remember. Still, the law said he couldn't be, and besides Merle and the old man, Daryl didn't have a single blood relation left. None that would have taken him in, anyway.

Things were starting to look really bad, with a group home and talk of relocation looming over him, when help came from a completely unexpected source.

Rick showed up.

Daryl still doesn't know why, he'd only seen the cop maybe twice before in his life. Once when his old man got into a bar fight, drunk in the middle of the afternoon, 11-year-old Daryl waiting in the truck. The other was a few months before, when Rick hauled him in because some old bitty thought she saw him robbing her house. It wasn't him, but he had no alibi and it was her word against Daryl's, and Daryl was a Dixon. Every word out of his mouth was branded a lie, has been practically since he was born.

He probably would have ended up in juvie if the real thief wasn't caught two days later on an unrelated matter, the lady's jewelry still in his possession. They let him go without a word, and the helpless rage and humiliation at his treatment is why he will never, ever trust a cop, not without a damn good reason.

Rick, though. Rick gave him a good reason, and more.

He showed up at Daryl's trailer a few days after the funeral, sat him down and gave him a choice. He goes back to school, the same one he dropped out of the year before (his old man never even noticed). He gets a part-time job at the place of his choosing. He stays out of trouble, and that's non-negotiable -- no drinking, no fighting, no poaching, no getting hauled in by the police. And he comes to check in with Rick at least once a week.

In return, Rick would vouch for him with the judge, help him become an 'emancipated minor'. Daryl would get to keep the trailer and live on his own, take care of himself -- he'd basically be free to do whatever he wanted otherwise.

And Rick would be there if he ever needed help, or advice, or someone to talk to. Daryl scoffed at that last one but Rick just insisted, eyes sincere and steady.

Never before has an adult looked Daryl in the eye and seen someone worthy of helping, or taking care of, or talking to. It was a strange feeling, being held accountable, having the power over his own life in his hands, but Daryl liked it.

In the end, it was a no-brainer.

Daryl agreed.

~*~

A year and a half later, Daryl has a routine.

He's starting his senior year of high school in a few days, grades not spectacular but nothing to sneeze at either. He works part-time three days a week at the garage downtown, a place called 'Nutcracker' owned by Abraham, a large man who chews up more cigars than he smokes. Daryl has learned to drive and fix almost everything, from a scooter to a tractor, always under Abraham's watchful eye.

He also works at an independent sporting goods store in the mall, managed and run by a brother-sister team called Sasha and Tyreese. It's mostly restocking the shelves and cleaning up but every once in a while he gets to help customers, since he knows almost everything about hunting and weapons there is to know. Sasha even lets him try some of the equipment out in the woods, says it's good for the store if he can talk stuff up from personal experience. The smile she had on her face when she said it makes Daryl think it's more than that, but he's not one to look a gifted horse in the mouth.

Sunday evenings he has dinner at Rick's place. It's mostly just him and Rick and his pre-teen son Carl, but sometimes Rick's girlfriend Michonne joins them. The awkwardness that was almost choking Daryl the first few months is now all but gone, replaced by familiar teasing from Rick the Dad and the occasional grilling from Rick the Cop. Michonne is mostly quiet but really cool, and Carl is a baby chatterbox, and the only one able to draw out a loud laugh from Daryl.

It's the only taste of normal life that he's ever had, these dinners and talks. There are moments when he wants to stay there so bad, just so he can belong somewhere, be part of a family that actually gives a damn about each other. It chokes him, that need, makes his hands shake with its intensity. But the pull always passes, and he goes back to his trailer at the end of the night.

He could never give up his freedom anyway. Not even to belong somewhere again.

Yeah, he's the last Dixon, all alone now.

But it's not so bad, not really.

It still surprises him sometimes, how much his life has changed in such a short period of time. He pays the bills, does grocery shopping, cleans, cooks simple meals, works, hunts, studies; he even figured out how not to shrink his t-shirts or turn them all pink when doing laundry.

It's not all roses and pearls, of course. He struggles with homework (but still does it), forgets to pay a bill or two occasionally, and sometimes he feels so lonely it's like a physical ache burning through his veins.

But he's fed, clean, has a roof over his head, goes into the woods whenever he wants. He even has a few people he thinks he could count on if needed.

No one hits him. That's really good. The skin on his chest and back has healed into ugly scars, permanent reminders of his pathetic past, and the only cuts and bruises he gets anymore are earned by his own clumsiness.

He even has a little money left over from the extra work he did during the summer. Bought himself a leather jacket for the cold days with it last year, and he now has a cellphone, one made in this millennium. The rest is carefully put aside into a savings account because he plans to buy a bike as soon as he can, knows the make and the model and all the specifications already.

Daryl might not have anyone to call his blood anymore, at least not on this continent, but he thinks the exchange just might've been worth it.

He loves his brother, and he'd love it if Merle came back, too, but he still has two years left on his contract. And knowing Merle, he won't be around anymore after that than he is now.

And last but not least, Daryl has no friends.

There's a couple people at school who seem ok but Daryl's never really been a social guy, even less so now. No one wants to hang around an almost-mute trailer trash kid with a dead father and deadbeat brother.

That's not a selfie you'll get likes on.

Still, all things considered, life is going well.

Daryl isn't happy, not really, but he was never truly happy before, either. Maybe when he was a baby, too small to know better, still depending on his momma for everything. After that, it was all shit with periods of less shit.

It's pathetic, but it is what it is. No sense in crying over it.

He's content. Yes, that's the word.

It's all he can ask for.

~*~

First day of senior year, first period English, Daryl walks into the classroom and meets the blue-green eyes of Paul Rovia for the first time.

And once again, everything changes.


	2. Chapter 2

New town, new school, new people, same old shit.

Paul doesn't even bother learning the names and faces anymore, there's no point. He got transferred to this shithole of a town and he'll get transferred out at some point, and none of these people will be even a distant memory. It's not like anyone ever asks for his opinion about his own life, and where and how he should live it. It'll be a miracle if he finishes the year here, he started and ended a school year at the same place maybe once since he ended up in the system.

The school itself is familiar in that way all schools are, regardless of location. Big building, lots of noise, nosy teachers, random kids everywhere. There's the resident jocks, cheerleaders, nerds, goths, and tons of other groups he doesn't care about, tiny variations and crossovers in cliques completely uninteresting.

There's even a rare baby redneck, if the gossip is to be believed, living in an actual trailer and everything. Paul saw him during first period, a flash of blue eyes beneath dark hair the only impression he got. That one will be a delight to interact with if there's ever any reason to, he's sure. Probably in the shape of shoves and fists and backwater posturing 'just because'.

Yeah, Paul knows what he looks like: huge eyes, slim build, narrow face -- he's 5 feet 6 inches of prime bait for bullies, snobs and homophobes. It's been that way since he could remember, kids picking on him at school, in the group home, even on the street. The adults aren't much better, ranging from the obnoxious 'I want to help you but only while you're nice and sweet and I feel good about myself' types, to 'get out of my sight, you [insult of the day]' to the creepy white-van people.

The world will swallow you up whole if you don't take care of yourself. Paul learned that lesson very young, and he takes great care never to forget it.

It's one of the reasons he scoured this godforsaken town top to bottom until he found a gym willing to take volunteering and helping with odd chores in exchange for using the equipment and attending what passes for mixed martial arts classes a couple times a week. Keeping up with his training saved him from permanent injury more times than he can count, there's no way he's getting rusty now, not here.

The school library turns out to be one of the better ones he's been in, surprisingly. He can already see he'll be spending a good part of his school and afterschool hours there. First, there's books, which is awesome. Second, there's free internet, score. And third, no one bothers him there. It's like the trifecta of things he really likes.

And that's it.

Nothing interesting or worth noting, really.

He can barely remember the town's name.

~*~

After the first few days of adjustment period, Paul goes to school, reads, and keeps to himself.

And, as always, he observes everything and everyone around him.

It's part self-preservation, part common sense, part habit. Never allow yourself be surprised. If you see the problems coming, you can do something about them.

He kind of enjoys it, too, makes it a game. Figuring out who is who, how they fit into the school hierarchy, who they're friends with, who they hate or love or pretend to feel either of those.

Not to be conceited but he's gotten pretty good at it over the years.

Everything is normal and predictable and boring, and Paul half hates it and half prefers it that way. Maybe he'll get to finish this year here, without drama and another stupid transfer. He's turning 18 in a few months, after all, will graduate half a year after.

Paul has vague plans of going somewhere far away, a big city where he'll be just another guy in a sea of people. He'll find a job, a small place to live with no roommates and precious space just for himself. Maybe a friend or two, someone he can trust, hang out with when he's feeling like crap.

It's such a fucking pipe dream.

But hey, a guy can dream, right?

~*~

The first surprise comes a couple of weeks into the semester, when a girl with wavy brown hair and green eyes sits across from him at the picnic table during lunch.

"Hi," she says, "I'm Maggie."

Paul hesitates.

This rarely happens, a head-on approach and introduction, but in his experience it often means trouble. It's usually a bored, privileged girl looking for another victim, a jock trying to establish dominance early on, or someone looking for a hookup with the orphan kid for the Fame or the Infamy.

But he's seen this girl around and she seemed ok. Has a few friends she hangs out with, pretty amiable with a lot of different groups, stares after a dark-haired guy when he's not looking (which is pretty hilarious, since the guy is staring back at her when _she_ isn't looking -- it's like a real, live action High School Musical).

Can't hurt to try. Maybe it'll spare him a confrontation on this ever so lovely day.

(He hates Mondays. Everyone's so pissed off about school starting again, it always ends with drama.)

"Hi," Paul says finally, eyebrow raised. He doesn't offer anything else.

Let her take the lead, he has no idea what this is about.

"Seen you around, you're new in town, right?" Maggie says, unwrapping her sandwich and taking a bite.

"Yeah," Paul answers, as unhelpful as possible. He can see his one-syllable answers are starting to annoy her and he smirks.

Good. Frustrated people tend to slip up and say more than they intend to. Things they _really_ think and feel, not what they think or pretend they should.

"Eduardo, he's a friend of the family, works at the gym. Says you're good at all that ninja stuff."

He's met Eduardo, briefly, before one of his classes. The awkward chat was only long enough to find out the guy's name and that he has a crush on Cyndie, whoever that is. The guy wouldn't shut up about her the entire time.

Paul can't really relate.

"I guess... I've been doing it for a while."

Even this much information is a struggle to get past his lips. Knowledge is power, and Paul can't remember the last time he shared something with anyone, let alone a virtual stranger. It gets stuck in his throat most often, like half-melted toffee.

"Think you can show us a few things at the self-defense class we have here at school?"

Paul raises his eyebrows, taken off guard.

Well, this is completely out of the left field.

"Me?" he says, pointing a finger at himself like a tool.

"Yeah. You know all them fighting moves, right?" Maggie says, like this is something easy and natural, asking a strange new kid to become involved in an activity straight from an afterschool special.

Paul mulls it over. It's not such a bad idea, really. Gives him something to do, maybe fosters some good will from the administration and his classmates. Sometimes a positive opinion if all you need to shift a seemingly hopeless situation to your advantage.

"It would count as gym hours _and_ an extracurricular activity, y'know," Maggie says when she sees him wavering.

"Um, sure, yeah. I can do that," Paul says, not quite knowing why he's doing this himself. But his gut says yes and it never steered him wrong so far.

"Great," Maggie beams at him, and shoves the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth. "Here, gimme your number, we'll sort out the details later."

She leaves a few minutes later with a wave and a smile.

Paul isn't quite sure, but he may have just taken the first step to making a friend.

Maybe. Possibly.

The first one in… forever.

He doesn't know how to feel about it.

~*~

On his way back to class, Paul sees that redneck guy struggling to put books and what looks like a lumpy duffle bag in his locker. The books fall with a crash and he swears, bending down to pick them up, his shirt sliding up enough for Paul to get a split second look at his lower back, and he almost stumbles.

There's a long, painful-looking scar spreading from one side of the guy's waist to the other. It's dark and jagged against pale skin, long since healed, and Paul wonders what it could be from. It clearly wasn't surgery, but if it was a cut of some kind, it was treated inadequately or left to heal on its own.

The view is gone in a second, a hand pulling the shirt down, the guy glancing around warily.

Paul looks away before he gets caught staring and keeps walking. He knows what it's like when people stick their noses where they don't belong.

It's none of his business.


	3. Chapter 3

So Daryl's week is going crappy as fuck so far.

First the crossbow he's been trying out for the last few days got scratched while he was stuffing it into his locker at school, causing Sasha to make a pursed-lips face when he returned it yesterday. It's not a big deal, shit like that happens, they'll probably put it up as an exhibition piece.

And Sasha didn't even say anything, she knows how careful Daryl is usually. It's just that he hates not returning things in a pristine condition, especially weapons he's been given to test out. It's his responsibility, and he takes pride in his work and his skill set, as silly as it sounds when working in a sports goods store.

Then there was the English assignment designed specifically to make his life hell, with an oral report on a character of choice in some stupid book due in a month.

Daryl hates oral reports, doesn't like talking to more than one person in general, let alone in front of the whole class. His words always twist and tangle, come out wrong, or he blanks on whatever he wanted to say.

This assignment is yet another thing to fucking dread for the next month, thank you very much.

At least math is familiar. The numbers are reliable, formulas always stay the same. It calms him down, facing a row of problems and knowing there's a correct answer to each one. No way to misinterpret something or have that 'yes, but' moment which inevitably happens in fucking English class.

He's dreading the third thing, though, trouble always comes in threes in his experience.

He rounds the corner and almost runs over the new kid, a quick flinch from Daryl and a twist to the right from Rovia saving their heads from colliding.

"Sorry," Daryl mutters a bit belatedly and continues on, shifting his backpack higher on his shoulder.

"Yeah, sorry," comes the quiet reply from behind him, retreating footsteps soon swallowed up by the general noise of a high school corridor.

Paul Rovia.

Lives in the group home over on Hilltop Avenue (which is a fancy name for a street that's barely even a part of town at all, and actually so far out it's near Daryl's trailer), knows some kind of ninja stuff, has so many AP classes he could probably graduate early if he wanted to.

No, Daryl didn't ask for any of this information. It's all over the school, you can't fucking escape the whispers and blatantly loud conversations at every corner.

Not that there's anyone he could ask even if he wanted to. With his reputation, Daryl might as well be invisible.

Or shunned in a wide circle, it's a toss-up what kind of day it is.

Anyway, apparently, Paul Rovia is everything from a deadbeat drug addict, to a con artist, to a poor innocent soul, to a ninja assassin, to a fake hipster wannabe. (Daryl has no idea what those last three words even _mean_ when put together.)

Personally, he doesn't see what the fuss is about. Rovia is just a guy like any other.

And if Daryl feels a bit weird every time he catches a glimpse of him, well, it's probably because Daryl's never seen someone like him before.

Or because he could've been him, stuck in some group home and moved around like unwanted luggage, if Rick didn't intervene. It's unsettling, to feel a kind of sympathy for a complete stranger based on your own life and zero interactions. To think that, even with all the crap that happened to you, there's one way in which your life is better than that random person's.

Whatever, it's nothing. Him and the new kid are as different as can be, to think they'll ever even talk is almost laughable.

No point in dwelling on things that can never happen.

~*~

Glenn catches him in front of the History classroom on Thursday, and it's so unexpected Daryl stops in his tracks.

"Hey, Daryl, wait a sec," Glenn says, like they actually spoke more than two words to each other in the last 11 years they went to the same schools and classes.

It's not Glenn's fault, not really. Daryl was always pretty standoffish, and Merle's reputation preceded him into both elementary and high school. Kids tended to stay away from him, and the few bullies that didn't learned their lesson pretty quickly. If Daryl himself didn't split their lips and bruise their stomachs, there was always the threat of a much older brother with no scruples about punching little kids keeping the sharks at bay.

Now that no one has Daryl's back, he wonders if any of those sharks will come to collect their pound of flesh. It wouldn't surprise him, shit like that always finds a way to return and blow up in your face.

Daryl will go down swinging, though, that's for sure.

He mutters " _What?_ " while looking Glenn over in small glances. He's a good one, works as a pizza delivery guy on weekends, always interferes if he sees someone pushing younger kids around. Has a huge crush on Maggie, Daryl's seen him mooning over her from afar.

Damn fool should just ask her out, anyone can see she's making cow eyes back at him.

"I have a favor to ask."

A favor?

Glenn, from _Daryl_?

" _What?_ " Daryl says, half asking and half in disbelief.

"I know this is totally random and you can tell me to go away, but I really need to find some plants and leaves for that biology herbarium project thing? And I have no idea who to ask or who might know where any of it even is in the woods. I mean, I'd get lost in two seconds in the woods, are you kidding me? I never stepped foot in there. And I thought you might know, since you work in that sport store that has all the hunting equipment? That's kind of related to the woods and outdoors, right? And I heard you know how to hunt and stuff, so maybe you've seen some of it before. What do you think?"

Daryl blinks, kind of dazed at the flood of words coming from Glenn.

He knows what project Glenn's talking about, he already collected everything he needed to and carefully pressed it to dry out between the pages of a notebook. One of his favorite pastimes is identifying all the plants and flowers he sees on his hunting trips and walks. Maybe he'll even continue updating the herbarium on his own after the project ends, he likes seeing real plants he himself collected in a notebook, labeled and neat, fragile but still preserved.

He debates with himself for a second, worrying at his lip, and decides to help. Glenn's never even looked at him wrong, which he could've considering just who his brother is and how he treated anyone different from him. And Daryl knows where all the plants are, it'd take just a day or two to collect it all. It's not like Daryl has anything better to do, anyway.

And maybe they could do it during the weekend? Daryl usually checks the nests and burrows he knows of on Saturdays, of squirrels and rabbits and owls and such, since the tiny critters sometimes fall out or get lost.

Making the offer to help, though... It's kind of stupid but nerves make his palms sweat a little.

What if Glenn laughs in his face? He doesn't look like the type, and Daryl's never seen him act mean to anyone in _a decade_ , but still. First time for everything.

...no, no chickening out. If Glenn says no, it's fine.

It'll be fine.

"I can take you," Daryl says quietly, "I know where all that stuff grows."

He glances at Glenn quickly, and catches a huge grin breaking out on the boy's face.

"Really? That would be great!"

Relief runs through Daryl like a wave.

A small part of him still expects Glenn to take it back but he shuts it down.

"Thanks, man," Glenn says cheerfully, holding his fist out in a classic 'fist bump, please' position.

Daryl nudges Glenn's fist gently with his own, a small smile curving his lips, nerves all but gone.

Okay. So maybe this week isn't so crappy after all.

That's cool.


	4. Chapter 4

The redneck guy - Daryl, he learned in English today that his name is Daryl Dixon, and it's so stereotypical it's kind of hilarious - is starting to mess with Paul's system.

It was fine while he stayed sullen and silent in the back of the classroom, never talking or really interacting with anyone. He fit neatly into the 'small town hick' category then, and Paul could forget about him until he became a nuisance or a threat. The small details he noticed on and around him, the interest he felt stirring, it could all be explained and willed away.

Then he saw Glenn (Maggie's guy - he's Korean, it turns out) babble at Daryl in the hallway a few days ago, and was so surprised at the unexpected combination, he had stopped to see what will happen.

Contrary to all his expectations, Daryl not only replied to whatever Glenn was saying (too quietly to overhear), he also fist-bumped Glenn.

A _fist bump_ \- it was like Daryl was a real, live boy with feelings and everything.

The smile, though? Now _that_ was a real kick in the teeth.

Paul stared, completely obvious though no one cared enough to notice, as Daryl's lip curled to the left, the beauty mark above the curve shifting with the motion.

_He's shy_ , Paul realizes with a start, brain immediately reassessing everything he's seen and assumed so far.

Daryl probably isn't staying isolated by choice, then, not entirely; Glenn just blew that theory out of the water. Paul has never seen him interact with anyone so far, not even Glenn, and while they could have been friends before, the whole scene has an air of insecurity and newness to it. Like this is the first time they're really talking to each other.

The gruff and standoffish behavior now points more to Daryl being awkward and having bad social skills than anything else. Maybe with added bad blood and judgmental small town minds, too? Something he did in the past, or someone he's connected with -- probably a family member, that's most likely -- causing Daryl's classmates to avoid and isolate him.

But he's still kind, it seems. Somehow, this hostile environment he's living in didn't make him cruel or mean or petty. He was receptive to whatever Glenn told him, and it kind of looked like Glenn asked something of him, a favor, maybe? And Glen himself was happy when they parted ways, so it was apparently granted, whatever it is.

Paul was so distracted with his thoughts he half-collided with some jock, shoulder smarting as he threw a rushed "sorry" over his shoulder and continued to his next class.

~*~

Two days later, he sees a growly Daryl help a half-terrified freshman pick up his books after the boy ran into him in the hallway, and adds 'helpful' and 'all bark and no bite' and 'definitely not the bully sort' to the list.

It fucking _doesn't make sense_ , not with the way Daryl carries on, or how the rest of the school treats him.

The whole situation is frustrating, and it's starting to irritate and intrigue Paul in equal measure.

_Who is this guy?_

~*~

Paul finds himself lingering in the library a week later, his curiosity getting the better of him after seeing Daryl pecking away at the keyboard on one of the ancient computers the school has yet to replace.

They'd be able to afford some pretty decent stuff if they took a fraction of the amount the football team gets for their lousy performance and repurpose it for other activities and infrastructure, but that's a fight Paul doesn't want to get into in a place he cares nothing about.

Daryl hadn't noticed him yet so he finds a desk with a good view and spreads out a few notebooks, sneaking peeks at Daryl while half-heartedly trying to solve some problem sets.

Stupid math, it's both boring _and_ too complicated to bother, how is that possible?

He must've been looking more than he thought because on the next 'casual' glance he meets Daryl's eyes and it's like a live wire being jammed right under his sternum. Daryl looks away immediately, but there's a frown on his forehead now as he bites his lip nervously.

_Oops._ Better quit while he's ahead.

Paul quickly gets up from the desk and goes into the stacks to find something to read.

No point in wasting a perfectly good trip to the library, after all.

~*~

"Hey, hold up," Paul says when Daryl walks by him on his way out a few minutes later.

"What?" Daryl turns and grits out, narrowed eyes staring into Paul's.

It's the first time Paul has seen him actually lift his head up and meet someone's eyes straight on, and it takes him aback for a minute.

Daryl looks like he's ready for a confrontation, wide shoulders he'll probably grow into at some point set and tense, a fire in him now that hasn't been present the entire time Paul knew him. It's kind of fascinating, and Paul loses a bit of time trying to figure out the exact shade of blue Daryl's eyes are.

"Nothing," Paul says belatedly, "You forgot your book back there."

Daryl realizes Paul didn’t stop him to talk shit or make fun of him, and promptly deflates. When you're paying attention and know the first thing about him, he's actually really easy to read. Right now, his face is saying embarrassment, followed by a touch of insecurity, and then confusion and impatience. He's avoiding Paul's eyes again but still takes him in with quick, darting glances.

Paul stays relaxed and lets him look, trying not to stare back and make him uncomfortable. Something tells him that if he pushes this, like he usually pushes things in impatience or spite or out of pure curiosity, it'll backfire.

"Thanks," he mutters at Paul, grabs his book and stuffs it in his backpack, then walks away with both hands in his pockets, bangs covering his eyes.

_Damn_ , he's _adorable_.

Paul stays still for a moment, processing that thought, and then groans.

_Aw, crap._

~*~

The classes with Maggie and the mismatched group of their classmates are going really well so far.

They meet in the school gym after school twice a week, Mondays and Thursdays, for 45 minutes. Paul is mostly there to show moves the instructor doesn't know or be the guinea pig for demonstrations, but it's fun and fairly relaxing.

Maggie tries to integrate Paul into the group, introduces him to everyone and hints at common interests, and while he's grateful for the effort Paul still likes her best of all. She has an easy air about her, open and non-judgmental, so much so that Paul finds himself sharing tidbits of information about his life unprompted. It's the first time it happened since he can remember.

Maggie and her dad (' _Call me Hershel, Paul'_ ) drop him off at the home after, since he missed the school bus and regular transportation rarely goes so far in the evenings.

It's a big old mansion, Barrington House, with about twenty children and teenagers of various ages and backgrounds living there. Two per room is the standard, and Paul's roommate is Kal, an easy-going boy a few years younger. As far as group homes go, it's not such a bad place. They mostly let them do their own thing as long as they show up for meals, aren't making trouble, and are in their rooms by 10 pm.

Once ready for bed, Paul checks his most precious possessions as he does every night (it's a habit he got into while living in one of the more questionable homes, with sticky fingers everywhere), turns his bedside lamp off and settles on his side.

Sleep eludes him tonight, random thoughts and snippets from his day flashing behind his eyelids -- the book he borrowed, Maggie's laughter tonight as he was flipped to the mat by a girl at least five inches shorter than him, the way Daryl's chin rose in silent challenge at the library.

That... that could become a problem.

Paul is self-aware enough to know what it looks like when someone catches his eye, and Daryl did, as no one has in a very long time.

He can't help himself, the dude is _intriguing_. Everything he seems to find out about him contradicts something else he thought he already knew, and it's making him curious like hell. Nothing gets to him more than a mystery, it's like freaking catnip.

Paul sighs and rolls over on his other side. Maybe this time curiosity won't kill the proverbial cat, 'cause that would _suck_.

He drifts off to the image of himself as a cat, running away from huge letters that spell CURIOSITY trying to catch him.

He falls asleep before he finds out what happens next.


	5. Chapter 5

It's a sunny Saturday afternoon and Daryl and Glenn are in the woods, collecting the herbs Glenn needs for the project.

It's been going ok so far, aside from this 'helpless and hopeless in nature' thing Glenn has going on. They're almost done, in fact, walking back to the nearest road so Glenn can catch a bus home.

"Watch your step," Daryl says for maybe the fifteenth time, and Glenn throws a distracted yet grateful glance back at him.

He's half kid in a candy shop, half the worst city-boy he's ever seen -- bumbling everywhere, wanting to see and smell and touch everything, _complaining_ about everything. Daryl saved him from various irritating and poisonous plants at least ten times already, to Glenn's loud and continuous outrage at the nature trying to kill him.

His words, not Daryl's.

"Not bad," Daryl says, making a mental note of the location of a squirrel nest to check on later. He didn't think they'd be able to find everything they wanted to today but luck was on their side.

"For a Korean?" Glenn teases, but there's a tiny bite in his voice, and Daryl tenses.

Truth be told, Daryl probably would say something like that or even far worse a few years ago, half emulating his old man and Merle, half wanting to lash out and hurt someone else the way he's been hurting for so long.

But words have power, and cruel words can inflict the worst kind of pain imaginable, one that doesn't leave a mark on your body but scars and twists the very soul. Daryl would know, he has a bunch of venomous words attached to him -- to his name, his place in the school, his living accommodations.

People are cruel, but they've got nothing on kids and high scoolers.

Still, now that he's started working and occasionally has contact with customers on both jobs, he's found that helping is surprisingly satisfying. (Horrible human beings notwithstanding, of course -- luckily, both Abraham and Sasha and Tyreese have a take-no-bullshit policy.) There's a kind of warmth and a tiny rush of pleasure accompanying each time he gets a smile, or sees gratitude on people's faces.

So he tries to do the right thing as much as he can, be helpful as much as possible. Making sure Glenn knows he doesn't have to worry about Daryl or keep his guard up around him seems right, and important.

And it's much better than feeling like he's a worthless piece of shit, anyway, good only for his dad's belt and as a makeshift ashtray.

"No," Daryl says quietly but with a firm voice, "Just not bad."

He lifts his head and looks at Glenn head on, with all the sincerity and determination he can muster, and Glenn beams at him. It feels like a new beginning, a bit, like breathing fresh air after spending a long time cooped up.

Daryl feels another pebble fall off the chunk of rock he's carrying around on his shoulders.

"Still a darn hopeless city boy, though," Daryl smirks, trying to break to moment before feelings give him hives.

Glenn barks out a mock-offended ' _hey_ ' and promptly trips again.

"Dammit!"

~*~

They're right at the edge of the woods when Daryl stops in his tracks, lifting an arm in an attempt to stop Glenn from making further noise. Glenn stills and falls silent surprisingly fast.

Something's off.

Daryl listens intently, trying to figure out what tipped him off. The birds are quiet, he realizes, though that could be because Glenn wouldn't stop yammering until a second ago. His voice tends to carry.

...no, that's not it. There's also a creeping sensation sneaking up his spine, of someone or some _thing_ watching them.

Merle would probably dismiss it and make fun of him but Daryl's gut is never wrong. Experience proved that more than enough times.

He's reaching for his crossbow silently, just in case it's one of the more dangerous animals out there, when a small body drops out of a treetop some fifteen feet away.

"Hey," Paul Rovia says casually, hands in his pockets, like they grow guys like him on trees and it's completely normal to hang out in there, drop down on innocent people at random and almost give them a heart attack.

"Hey, you're the new kid," Glenn says, recovering first, curious and friendly as always. He wanders over to the newcomer like a freaking puppy and Daryl follows reluctantly.

There's something about this guy that kind of... bugs Daryl. Puts him on edge. It's not necessarily a bad feeling, it's just… different.

Yeah, that's it. Rovia is somehow different to every other high school kid he knows, and it's not because he's an orphan or new in town or anything like that. There's tons of people Daryl doesn't know and doesn't care to know, shitty living situations aside. Yet every time he sees the guy Daryl's eyes linger and dart back constantly, often without his permission. It's kind of frustrating.

"Yeah, hi, I'm Paul," Rovia says with a smile, squinting a bit in the sunlight. It's a nice smile, Daryl thinks absently, a bit crooked but sincere. He's dressed in cargo pants and boots (laces tied around his ankles multiple times as to not leave any free space for creepy crawlies to get in, good choice when hanging around in the woods), and a plain, oversized t-shirt.

"Glenn, and this is Daryl," Glenn says with an accompanying dorky wave, and Daryl looks away when Rovia glances at him. He checks his crossbow needlessly to have something to do with his hands that isn't fidgeting.

"I think you're in my chemistry class," Glenn continues, and Rovia hums in agreement.

"Yeah, and I have English with you, Daryl, if I'm not mistaken?"

Daryl snaps his head up at being addressed.

"…yeah," he says belatedly, unsure what he's supposed to do.

Why is Rovia talking to him?

"What are you guys doing here?"

"Oh, we're collecting plants for this biology project we have. Well, I have, and have been putting it off for ages. Luckily Daryl here volunteered to help, saved my butt with his mad nature skills," Glenn says in his characteristic babble, and Daryl can feel the skin of his neck and cheeks heat slightly.

Rovia looks at him and raises an amused eyebrow. "That's pretty cool of you."

Daryl can _hear_ something else in there, an undercurrent to the words Rovia said, but he doesn't know him well enough to figure out what it means. Nor to call him out on it, either, so he stays silent, shifts on his feet awkwardly.

"Why're you hanging out in a tree like a monkey?" Daryl blurts out, to the surprise of everyone present, most of all himself.

Since when does he take an interest in what people do?

And ask such stupid questions on top of it, dear lord. Daryl wants to bang his head against the nearest tree trunk but what's done is done, so he raises his chin and waits for an answer.

Rovia chuckles.

"I like hanging out in trees, it's quiet up there. Only the squirrels around to keep me company. And I live right over there," he points at a huge house on a slope not too far away.

Oh, right. The group home. His trailer is just on the other side of the small glade next to it, maybe a mile off through the woods. It's a fifteen minute walk, half that time at a run, and Daryl's belly flutters with nerves at the knowledge that Rovia lives so close, at the possibility of running into him.

Here, in his space, where Daryl feels relaxed and at peace.

_What the hell?_

"Well, I gotta go home, mom will kill me if I'm late," Glenn says and waves again, turning to walk away.

Daryl nods with his head down and follows him, eager to escape this awkward situation.

"Hey," Rovia calls after them, "think you could help me find some plants, too? My AP class is doing the same project and I'm missing a few, it shouldn't take long."

Huh. He's talking to Daryl, apparently, because Glenn would get them both seriously injured and/or poisoned out there.

No offence to Glenn.

But still.

Daryl glances at Glenn instinctively and the boy raises his eyebrows at him in what seems like a 'your choice but it would be nice' look.

Anxiety flares up in his gut briefly, but it's not like there's a reason to say no, not really. He already helped Glenn, and even though they knew each other for years, he was almost as much of a stranger as Rovia was a few days ago.

And if he's being really honest, he kind of wants to. Say yes, help Rovia out.

He doesn't think about why, or how his stomach reacts to the idea.

Daryl turns and nods.

"Yeah, ok," he adds, biting his lower lip a little too hard.

"Really?" Rovia asks in obvious surprise, and then grins, wide and toothy, "Great, thanks!"

"See you at school," Glenn says as he leaves, walking backwards. Daryl nods again, starting to feel like one of those stupid bobble-heads people glue to their dash.

Huffing out a frustrated breath at himself, he turns abruptly and walks back into the woods, Paul Rovia at his side.

Well, isn't life full of goddamn surprises?


	6. Chapter 6

Seeing Daryl Dixon in the woods is like fucking poetry or some shit. It's unbelievably distracting.

He looks completely at ease and totally alert at the same time, all fluid movement, senses tuned into his surroundings. Paul almost trips multiple times because he can't stop watching Daryl lift his head when he's listening to a distant bird, or the way his arm flexes when he's lifting and resettling his crossbow (he has a freakin' _crossbow_ , how cool is _that_?), or how he doesn't make a fucking sound even with leaves and twigs and crackly, noise-making things _everywhere_.

 _How_ does he do that? For the first time since he started training years ago and got his growing limbs under control, Paul feels like the clumsy, loud one. He avoids stumbling again by sheer force of will, and goes back to studying Daryl sneakily.

The teen is tall and a little on the skinny side, shoulders wide and waist narrow. He's dressed sensibly in jeans and heavy boots and a t-shirt covered by some sort of leather vest with wings on the back.

Paul would crack a joke about it but he has a feeling it wouldn't go over well, so he keeps quiet.

Daryl's eyes are never still, a gorgeous blue color that's often hidden by suspicious squints and dark bangs. His hair is short and perpetually messy, and half-looks like Daryl did it himself. Still, it suits him, draws attention to the sharp lines of his face.

The work of art that are his forearms is better not mentioned at all, nor the effortless way he wields his crossbow.

(Heh. All dick-related puns aside.)

Daryl snaps his fingers at him suddenly and points, and Paul dutifully picks a few pale, frail flowers before they move on.

Unlike all the visual and non-verbal wealth of information Paul is getting from this, they have exchanged maybe ten words in total so far. It would probably be weird if he was with anyone else, but for Daryl this seems normal.

There's a certain type of serenity in being with someone without the pressure of making small talk, just walking and existing in silence, nodding or gesturing occasionally, and Paul feels a knot deep inside his chest loosen a tiny bit.

He doesn't really need the extra plants, to be honest, the ones back at Barrington are probably enough. But it's a great excuse to satisfy his curiosity and learn more about the mysterious Dixon, who is so unlike anyone else Paul has ever met.

Also, a little extra credit in class goes a long way sometimes.

Paul walks and observes and breathes in, soaking up the peaceful atmosphere.

Huh.

A lovely place, it looks like, these woods. No wonder Daryl wanders often, judging by the familiarity he shows for the surroundings.

Maybe there's something to this nature thing after all.

~*~

They're done within an hour and walk back toward Barrington House together.

"Where do you live?" Paul asks before his brain can catch up to his mouth, and _oh shit_ , if the rumors are true, he just stepped in it in a big way.

"The other side of that glade," Daryl points out, then hesitates for a split second before adding, with a defiant look on his face, "In the trailer park."

Paul looks Daryl in the eyes and nods, then continues walking.

Any comment he could make would _definitely_ come out wrong and make Daryl angry and defensive, so it's better to just keep quiet.

They're at the entrance for Barrington anyway, and stop in front of the iron fence that surrounds the property.

"See you at school, I guess," Paul says, more a question than a statement.

Awkwardness is like a third person between them, and Paul wonders if trying to make friends or connect with someone is always like this. He doesn't have much experience with it but the movies and tv shows always made it look so cute and effortless, a montage of banter and silliness that makes him scoff and drills a hole in his chest at the same time.

Daryl looks at him and nods after a second, eyes flicking quickly over his face and body.

Looks like Paul has passed some sort of test.

It's more satisfying than he wants to admit, that small nod of approval, and Paul smiles to himself when Daryl turns to leave.

_Oh, right._

"Thanks for the help!" he says in a tone just a bit louder than normal. Daryl just lifts one of his hands in a wave of acknowledgment and turns around the corner of the property, continuing into the glade.

By the time he enters his room, Paul realizes there's no way he's getting that extra credit because Daryl probably has him beat by a _mile_.

He chuckles and shakes his head, but can't really bring himself to care.

~*~

He sits next to Daryl on the bus on Monday.

He's seen him before, staring through the window and sitting alone way in the back, but never had a reason to join him. And he's usually really groggy in the mornings, takes at least until second period to wake up, so he didn't want to take the risk of making things weird while his brain-to-mouth filter isn't functional yet.

This time, he not only has an excuse, it would be borderline _rude_ not to at least say hi to the person who helped him with a project, merely out of the goodness of his heart.

Or that's what he tells himself, at least. It works, it's early morning, his brain can't freak out at him if it isn't even working.

He plops down next to Daryl, startling him by the feel of it, and tries to pry his eyelids open. The superhuman show of willpower is successful, and Paul turns to Daryl and tries to behave like a normal, awake, functioning human being.

 _That_ is only half-successful.

"Hi," Paul says, squinting to limit the amount of sunshine stabbing his eyelids mercilessly.

"Hi," Daryl says with a raised eyebrow. He must be a morning person ( _ugh_ ) because he looks awake and aware and fairly calm -- less so than in the woods on Saturday, but much more than he usually does in the school hallways. It's like the people and the classes wear him out, and he becomes a grouchy mess by the end of the day.

Speaking of.

"Why don't I ever see you on the bus after school?" Paul slurs some of the words, and his eyes close on their own when he leans his head on his fist, but he's up, he's listening.

"Got work," Daryl says shortly, and Paul catches a bemused look on his face between blinks. They're blinks, really, not mini-naps. "Have to take a different bus."

"Where do you work?"

"A garage, and a sporting goods store."

Paul _ohh_ s and says, "Is that why you lug those duffel bags around sometimes? What's in there? Do I get a discount if I say 'Daryl Dixon sent me'?"

"...you talk too much," Daryl says but his lips quirk into a curve for a few moments. "'S just stuff from the store. And no discount. I'll give you a kick in the ass if you show up, though."

Paul snickers, leaning back and sitting properly before he brains himself on the seat in front of him. It happened before, he's hopeless in the mornings.

Best to catch some more sleep before having to actually stand upright and interact with people.

Ugh. _People._

People _suck_.

Not Daryl, though, he's alright. He can stay.

"'M gonna sleep some more now, 'kay?" he mumbles at Daryl, and hears a huff of breath that could be amusement before he passes out.

He wakes up to a knee nudging his leg, bus half empty, and Daryl saying, "C'mon, wake up, Drowsy Dwarf."

Paul flips him off and gets up, yawning wide.

He stops at his locker and stumbles into their first period English on autopilot, Daryl's helpful poke saving him from sitting in the wrong spot at the last second. He pats Daryl's arm in gratitude, sleepiness making it more a swipe-and-slide, and sits down, laying his head on his folded arms to sleep for a few more precious seconds before the teacher comes in.

He'd really like to find the person who invented school and early mornings and roundhouse-kick them in the face because this is ridiculous.

_Ugh._

~*~

Paul doesn't really process what happened until later that day, when he passes Daryl and Glenn in the hallway and instead of the usual I-don't-know-who-you-are, head-down ignoring gets a quick glance and a tiny nod.

He waves at Daryl like a dork, the only thing he can think of in his surprise at this new development, and watches a small smirk cross Daryl's lips. It makes his heart skip a beat, just this quick and almost meaningless interaction, and Paul closes his eyes in a hopeless attempt to beat this feeling into the ground.

It doesn't work.

_Goddammit._

Paul stomps off to his next class with a buzzing mind and a squirming mess of a belly, half in dread and half in breathless anticipation at where this _thing_ he so foolishly started will eventually end up.


	7. Chapter 7

For some reason, Rovia -- no, _Paul_ , he should probably call him by his name at this point -- doesn't ignore Daryl at school.

He sits next to him in the bus every morning, waves or stops for a chat when he sees him in the hallways, walks with him to the few classes they have together or near each other.

Daryl is fairly sure he'd also switch seats in English, if the seating wasn't assigned and non-negotiable from the beginning of the semester.

And then there's the _touching_.

It's nothing big or too familiar, just a hand on his forearm to get Daryl's attention, a flick of his fingers in passing in the hallway, a punch to the shoulder when Daryl is being a shit or says something funny. Daryl is so careful not to get too near or brush against anyone else at school, it's a jolt of surprise every time Paul ends up in his space.

Not to mention how he keeps creeping up on him like the freakin' ninja everyone says he is. Daryl has no idea how he pulls it off -- one moment he's alone, or (occasionally) listening to something Glenn's babbling about, the next Paul is beside him, ranting about something random or seamlessly joining the conversation like he's been there from the start.

It's _weird_.

Daryl can't remember the last time someone his age actually hung around him so much, or put his hands on Daryl _at all_. Hell, besides Glenn, Paul is the first person to actually _talk_ to him this entire school year, other than the teachers and the occasional staff member. Even the freshman kid that ran into him that one time just stuttered and clammed up, rigid with fear and anxiety.

It sounds pathetic, when you think about it, but Daryl kind of prefers it that way. He doesn't like or care for his classmates, a few notable exceptions aside, so he actively tries to prevent interaction with glares, minimal eye contact, and one-word answers. It worked great so far.

Maybe a little too great, but never mind that now.

Paul, however, is completely immune to all that.

Not that Daryl tries too hard, but whenever he lapses into one of his defensive behaviors, Paul just steamrolls over it or ignores it until Daryl is back to his 'normal' self.

'Normal' as in 'the way he is around the few adults in his life that he trusts and Glenn', which is more 'friends and family mode' than normal, which is _weird_ because Paul doesn't really belong to either of those groups.

It's stressing Daryl out, is the point, this thing with Paul, unlike the total casualness of the Glenn thing.

And it's alright, somehow, at the same time.

Daryl kind of likes the way it feels, if he's honest. Knowing someone will be glad to see him every morning, having a familiar face smile at him in a sea of strangers, making it a bit easier to breathe when the day grows too long and tiring.

They get a lot of baffled looks, too, from their classmates. They're apparently 'way too different to be hanging out' and it's a complete mystery to anyone what is going on exactly.

Theories and rumors are running rampant again, and Daryl just rolls his eyes at the stares and hushed whispers.

Paul's right, people suck.

~*~

On a Tuesday about two weeks into their kind-of-sort-of-developing-friendship ( _has it only been two weeks? it feels so much longer_ ), something strange happens.

Maggie comes up to the three of them in the hallway and asks Paul about homework for some class they have together, and that ninja stuff they do after school.

(He's heard about the ninja stuff from the pocket-ninja himself, and would _love_ to see Paul get thrown on his ass by tiny little girls in person, but there's no way in hell he's going to that cheesy after school special. It's just not his thing, so he'll have to stick to amusing himself with hilarious mental pictures instead.)

Daryl couldn't care less about their chat and would probably leave, but Paul and he have a class next to each other in five minutes, so he waits. It's still a little mind-boggling, having people to wait for and go to class with, but Daryl is adapting. It helps that everyone is so matter of fact and don't make a big deal out of it.

Besides, Glenn looks just about ready to collapse with joy and awkwardness at Maggie's presence, and Daryl kind of wants to see that if it happens, it'll be funny as hell.

With nothing better to do, he takes the opportunity to study Paul while he's unaware, since the fleeting glances are all he can usually sneak past those sharp eyes.

Paul is wiry and a bit on the small side, with lightly defined muscles that only appear if clothes wrap around them with a gust of wind or sudden movement. Arms, thighs, calves, stomach, back -- it's all hints of subdued power hidden underneath oversized cotton fabric. He's a couple of inches shorter than Daryl, too, with straight hair reaching just below his chin and falling into his face occasionally.

His eyes are the most fascinating fucking thing ever, large and seemingly taking up half his face. And it's not only because of their unusual color, shifting between all hues of green and blue, but for the intelligence shining through, the mischief and laughter in them, easy to read once you know what you're looking for.

Paul lifts one hand to tuck his hair behind his ear absently and the line of his forearm draws Daryl's eye, tanned and strong.

It looks... good. Nice.

And the fingers, too, long and nimble, while his ear is as pointy as some of those elf creatures everyone is on about, it's ridiculous.

The skin of his cheek looks incredibly soft, though... Just like the curve of his lips, plush and pink and inviting...

Daryl snaps out of his thoughts and looks away abruptly, heat burning in the tips of his ears and belly fluttering.

Um, that went in a strange direction at the end there. Daryl was never really...

He frowns.

No, it's probably completely normal, to notice things about people. Daryl coughs and shifts on his feet.

_Totally normal._

No one pays any attention to him, luckily, since Glenn is still in la la-land and Paul is occupied talking to Maggie.

And speaking of -- there's something a little _off_ about that interaction, even though Paul is smiling and relaxed. He's obviously really fond of Maggie, you can see that from space, but... There's no familiar touches, no teasing and sarcasm, no barks of laughter.

_Huh._

Paul behaves nothing like he does when talking and hanging out with him, Daryl realizes.

It's strange enough to make him frown again, and he absently bids Maggie and Glenn goodbye as they leave in the opposite direction.

( _Wait, when did that--_ )

"C'mon, grumpy face, we're going to be late," Paul says, as if _Daryl_ was the one who was yammering away in the hallway forever, and drags him off.

Daryl huffs and shelves his line of thought to examine at a later time.

~*~

It comes as a huge surprise to Daryl, even though it shouldn't be, when he figures out that Paul doesn't have a lot of friends.

It's basically Maggie and, well, Daryl. Maybe Glenn, at a stretch.

And possibly some person Daryl doesn't know about, but then again, Paul never mentions anyone else so they can't be all that close. Certainly nobody at the gym, they're all distant colleagues at best. And Paul goes there to train, anyway, not hang out.

It's strange, considering his outgoing personality and the amount of girls from the self-defense class coming up to him every now and then. It could be the new kid thing, but that doesn't really fit with what Daryl knows about Paul so far. You get really good at 'people' very quickly, if you're forced to interact with a lot of new and different personalities on a regular basis, and Paul is definitely perceptive.

So making a lot of friends is obviously not something he... does? Wants? Cares about?

...no, none of those make any sense.

Daryl realizes a few days later that it's _Paul_ who keeps everyone at a distance, whether that is a conscious thing or an ingrained impulse. He talks the talk, smiles, interacts, but there's a personal space bubble around him that only Daryl and Maggie are allowed to breach. Every time anybody else comes too close, he sidesteps and shifts, a practiced dance almost too fluid to be noticed if you're not paying attention.

Daryl watches it all play out and wonders why.

Was it something in his past? Did someone hurt him and now he's wary? Or was he moved around a lot and unable to stay in touch with friends? After all, he just arrived to town and it's his senior year. _No one_ would choose to move in their senior year, no way. Not unless something really bad happened, or they had no choice.

Daryl doesn't like that thought, Paul being isolated and alone, with no control over his fate. It's something Daryl felt keenly in those days before Rick came to find him, felt it his whole life in various ways, and he wouldn't want it on anyone.

It's _awful_.

No, there's no use thinking about it. Paul has Maggie now, and Daryl. That should be enough for the time being, right?

And while Daryl isn't sure what he did to deserve being in this bubble of Paul's, how he earned this friendship, he is quite happy to be there.

He hopes Paul feels the same.

~*~

Work is normal that week, if tiresome, with Abraham griping about his now ex-girlfriend Rosita and how she threw half the plates and all their cutlery at him when he broke up with her a few days ago.

Personally, Daryl doesn't think it's that unreasonable to be angry when the person you've been with for two years suddenly tells you he doesn't love you anymore, but he keeps his mouth shut. It's not like he can help or give advice, and it's none of his business anyway.

He gets a text from Paul as he's leaving the garage, complaining about his math homework and trying to bribe Daryl to do it for him with imaginary cookies, even if all the answers are wrong, he doesn't care, just let someone else be the one to do it!

Daryl smiles at his phone, Paul flailing and whining as vivid in his mind's eye as if he was right in front of him. The cookies have to be imaginary because Daryl knows Paul is horrible in the kitchen and would probably burn water if it was physically possible.

Besides, there aren't that many people that would bake cookies for either of them -- and wow, this line of thought turned depressing really fast.

Daryl texts back with a promise to check Paul's answers on the bus tomorrow morning and help with anything really difficult, but only if more than half of it is already done. Paul grumbles about conditional friendship and cruel ultimatums but agrees immediately.

It's with a warm feeling in his belly that Daryl rides the bus home, mouth twitching into a smile on its own every once in a while.

Yeah. Today was a good day.


	8. Chapter 8

Paul is slowly going out of his mind.

It's completely obvious and borderline pathetic, the way he's behaving around Daryl, but he can't help himself.

His eyes scan the crowd automatically for wide shoulders and messy dark hair when he's in the hallways, he changes the route he takes to several classes so he bumps into Daryl more often, he always walks with him when they have a class together or anywhere near each other -- he's completely unsubtle and behaves like a shameless _stalker_.

Daryl, frustratingly, doesn't seem to notice anything.

It's like he's still stuck on the part when Paul wants to be his friend (and he does, he really does, Daryl is totally awesome) and can't see past that and to the pining _mess_ that is Paul.

It almost hurt, how surprised Daryl was when Paul started talking to him in the beginning. First time he stopped Daryl from walking away rapidly when one of the girls from self-defense classes came up to them, Daryl startled and looked at him with such confusion, a sharp pang went through Paul's chest.

Or heartburn, it could've been heartburn from the crappy cafeteria food. Hopefully.

...it's totally not, oh _god_ , what _the hell_ has he gotten himself into?

Paul snaps out of his thoughts as he almost trips in the hallway next to the American History classroom, but miraculously manages to keeps his balance, arms wind-milling for a few seconds. Daryl steadies him in a quick reaction, and Paul's heart skips a beat at the warmth of Daryl's hand on his body.

Someone's errant limb seems to have gotten in his way, it looks like, and he hurriedly drags a glaring Daryl off to his seat before anything more can come of it.

_Focus, Paul, focus._

~*~

He bites the bullet and decides to tell Daryl he's gay.

It's not like he has to; they don't really talk about stuff like that very much. The few times something relating to same-sex marriage or genders and sexualities other than cis and straight comes up, Daryl doesn't seem to be very interested, but he doesn't seem against it or bothered by it, either. If Paul had to guess, based on behavior and a few off-hand comments, he'd say Daryl himself was somewhere on the ace spectrum, probably in the demisexual vicinity, but that's pure speculation.

As for Paul, he finds that he _wants_ to tell Daryl about himself, wants Daryl to know this fairly relevant fact that explains some things about his life and reactions. He also wants to know if what he's feeling is doomed to be unrequited and hopeless, or if even a sliver of a chance for reciprocity exists. It's starting to eat him up, this crush, and something must be done about it.

And sooner rather than later.

~*~

Maggie ends up being his practice run by virtue of catching him at a low point, brooding in a corner during the self-defense class, and somehow getting him to spill his issues about connecting with people. She barely reacts to the near-silent 'boyfriends' he utters (even though there's only been the one asshole he'd call that), smiles softly and tells him he should still try.

(Apparently, she and Glenn finally straightened themselves out and got together last week, and now she wants to share her blissful state with unsuspecting peers. The desire to roll his eyes is overwhelming, but they're so adorable it's kind of impossible to resent them.)

Paul is not quite sure if Maggie knows about his feelings for Daryl or if she's giving out a general type of advice, but figuring out who he's talking about shouldn't be rocket science. There's literally only _one_ person he hangs out with other than herself, so.

Anyway, one down, one to go.

Paul just hopes he isn't making a huge mistake, but if he is it's better to know now, while he can still put a stop to this without devastating heartbreak.

Hopefully.

~*~

Telling Daryl goes... fine?

He waits for a convenient time and conversation, some way to slip the information in unobtrusively, and he gets it a few days later during lunch while they're eating and occasionally kicking each other under the picnic table.

Daryl is worried about his presentation in English class today so Paul is trying to distract him. He already tried reassuring him and got only nervous grumbling and scoffs for his effort, and this is the best alternative.

They're chatting about Paul's job at the gym, and it leads to martial arts, which leads to action movies and movie stars -- Paul meanders a lot in his conversations, it's a thing, it doesn't matter.

When Daryl shrugs noncommittally at his commentary about crushes on various superheroes, Paul decides to just go for it.

"I, uh..." Paul trails off, throat tight.

This shouldn't be so difficult, it _shouldn't_. He trusts Daryl, and it's not even such a big deal anymore. It's the new millennium, right? Things are much better now than they ever were.

None of that helps melt the ice in his veins.

He is _so fucking scared_ all of a sudden, his hands start to shake.

But there's no going back now and he manages to force out what he meant to.

"All the guys I knew always went on and on about the Black Widow but I could never relate to that. I always kind of wanted to marry Bucky Barnes, myself," he says, and that's it, done and over, he's out.

Daryl kind of nods along to shows he's listening, and then what Paul said hits him and he freezes, wide eyes snapping up to Paul's.

Paul stares back, heart in his throat, and agonizing seconds pass.

One.

Two.

Three...

Well, at least he didn't immediately start yelling or quoting the Bible at him, so that's good?

Not that Daryl would do that, _god_ , Paul knows that, it's just that panic is eating his brain up.

Daryl unfreezes and gives a hesitant nod, dropping his eyes back to the table.

They sit in silence for a few more endless seconds, and the bell rings before Paul can scramble up anything to say.

He can't quite speak yet, anyway, throat dry as a desert.

"Gotta go, class," Daryl mutters, slides his backpack on his shoulder and walks off.

Soooo...

That went well.

...right?

~*~

Daryl doesn't quite avoid him the next few days but he's around less, and everything he does feels somehow... _careful_. Like he's overthinking everything, or maybe processing something completely unexpected.

Paul knows what this is. Daryl is probably going over all their interactions, wondering if he should've known, what could have given Paul away -- like he's a fucking spy or enemy and not his friend, the same as last week and the week before.

He _hates_ it, that adjustment period people need because they assumed something about Paul they shouldn't have. Sometimes he wants to scream at everyone that straight is not the default, okay? Neither is literally anything else about gender and sexuality, and just because most people fall into 'easy', 'normal' categories doesn't mean it applies to every single person you meet.

Better stop thinking about it, he'll just work himself up into a proper rage, and that won't help anyone.

He slams the door to his locker shut and walks off to class, Daryl nowhere to be found.

~*~

Paul is leaving the school two days later, finally done with the day and looking forward to curling up with the latest book he's devouring (and decidedly _not_ thinking about Daryl) when a voice calls out, "Hey, new kid! Orphan boy!"

Paul stops and rolls his eyes.

Great, this was all he needed today. Wannabe bullies. Add insult to injury, with Daryl still acting so weird.

Well, at least he can fuck with their heads a little.

He turns around with a wide smile on his face. "Yes? Can I help you?"

There's three of them, and the one in the front is familiar in that all-American jock and bully way, eyes small and cruel.

But it's not only that. There's another kind of familiarity that nibbles at the back of Paul's brain, and he soon grasps what it is.

It's the guy that slammed into him and tripped him in the hallways on several occasions during the last... well, few months.

Was he... was he trying to bully Paul in some way? Like a freaking third-grader?

Paul rolls his eyes again.

The alpha dog spews some bullshit Paul doesn't care enough to even listen to (once you've heard one entitled bully speech, you heard them all), but then he steps forward threateningly and Paul all but perks up.

Maybe a fight is what he needs to clear his head. Three to one isn't bad odds, even if each of them outweighs him by about thirty pounds.

He can take 'em.

Shifting on his feet subtly into a steadier stance, gripping his bag so he can swing it or drop it on the ground quickly if needed, Paul bares his teeth in a feral imitation of a smile.

_Fuck_ , he missed this. Training is good and all, but 'real' fighting gives him a rush like nothing else can.

He's just about to step closer and taunt the middle jock into swinging at him, knows _exactly_ what buttons to push to make him froth with rage, when Daryl pulls a stop to everything by showing up literally out of nowhere.

"Hey, you comin'?" he says to Paul, ignoring the dickheads a few steps away.

The abrupt silence and awkward tableau is almost funny, but Paul can see it's not so much fear on the jocks' part as it's adjusting to the new odds and finding them lacking, considering Daryl's loose cannon reputation.

Figures the cowards would baulk at a fair fight, could they _be_ more cliché?

Paul nods reluctantly and they walk away in an anticlimax, the trio silent behind them.

"What the fuck was that?" Daryl says as soon as they're out of sight and earshot.

"Nothing," Paul says shortly.

"Wasn't nothing I saw back there," Daryl says, eyes narrowed.

"It's none of your business, so just drop it," Paul dismisses, internally fuming at the fact that _this_ is what they're talking about after days of not even seeing Daryl.

"It is my business if I gotta save your ass. That asshole was glarin' and runnin' into you this whole week, I should've beaten his face into the ground."

Oh, so that's why Daryl is here and not on his way to work.

And since when is Paul the helpless one in this scenario?

"I don't need your help, I can take care of myself!" Paul snaps, sick of being thought of as weak, feeble, _less_.

Story of his fucking life here.

"Yeah? Didn't look like it," Daryl growls.

"I don't care what it looked like, I told you it was nothing, so will you just fucking _drop it_?"

Daryl just glares at him, calling him on his bullshit with a look, and Paul raises his chin up defiantly.

He's almost shaking with anger, hands curled into fists, all that adrenaline he built up a minute ago having nowhere to go but _out_.

" _Fine_ , do whatever you want, I dunno why I even bother," Daryl spits out and walks away, the hand clutching his backpack white with pressure.

"Fine!" Paul yells after him, like they're in some stupid Hallmark family movie.

A raised middle finger is the only answer he gets.

~*~

Paul isn't even half-way to the home when his anger cools and regret hits, sudden and crippling.

He can't even tell himself the fight was Daryl's fault because it wasn't, this is all Paul, he always does this. Gets close to someone and then fucks it up, with his temper, or his biting words, or just by being his _stupid_ self. He'll do it with Maggie and Nabila and Glenn, too, he's sure of it.

He gets ready for bed, giving Kal a weak nod when the boy asks if he can keep the light on a little longer. The kid is perceptive, though, and it's not long before he's turning off his lamp, breathing deep and even in minutes.

Curled up on his side, staring at the wall, the tidal wave of emotion sweeps him up and Paul can't stop silent tears from falling and soaking his pillow completely.

It _hurts_ , this loneliness and heartache that's burrowed so deep in his bones. His stomach contracts painfully, shoulders shaking with almost violent tremors.

He's been on his own since he can remember, Mom and Grandma shadowy outlines and impressions of laughter and soft kisses more than actual faces. And whenever he gets close to anyone, the few times he managed to, it always ends up like the ex-boyfriend situation, or like this thing with Daryl now.

And Paul is back to square one, no one but himself to blame, all on his own.

Sometimes he thinks he'll die alone, unloved, years and years from now, life having been an empty shell barely worth living.

The thought terrifies him.

His tears stop after a while and only hollowness remains, a gaping hole yawning wide in his chest.

He doesn't fall sleep for a very long time, and nightmares plague him when he does, all the way to sunrise.


	9. Chapter 9

Daryl stomps into the school, mood as dark as the heavy clouds outside, threatening to pour down on unsuspecting bystanders. He totally commiserates with those clouds.

Two days later and he's, incredibly, _still_ spitting mad at Paul.

Trying to take on three of those shitheads with a fucking smile on his face, it's _mind-boggling_. Yeah, Paul has training, Daryl knows it, but those kinds of people don't play fair. One of them could've been waiting hidden somewhere to clock Paul over the head, or they could've pulled a knife at him, or hurt him in a million other ways -- and their depraved, cruel minds can think of _a lot_ of ways of hurting people.

And the little prick smirks at them, puts himself in danger like that, with no fucks given? Like he doesn't care if he gets hurt or not? It makes Daryl's blood boil.

Whatever, fuck all of that shit. He'll know better once he gets punched a few times. That's how Daryl learned, after all. Nothing puts things in perspective like a little pain.

(And if his stomach contracts with fear at Paul getting even a stupid _hangnail_ , Daryl puts all his effort into ignoring it.)

Why should he care, this is no skin off his nose. He was fine before Paul showed up and he'll be fine after.

Daryl doesn't need him, he doesn't need anybody.

This whole thing is bullshit anyway.

He turns the corner and stops in his tracks when he sees Paul leaning on the locker next to his, as if conjured from his thoughts.

_Great._

Eyes narrowed, Daryl walks over and opens his locker like he doesn't see Paul standing there at all, exchanging books and shuffling random papers around. He doesn't even register what he's doing, he's so focused on the ignoring and not noticing.

"Hey, Daryl," Paul says quietly, and Daryl _really_ wants to look at his face, just to check if there's a single mark or bruise or scratch on him, but he doesn't. He stays silent instead, pretending to dig through his locker in search of whatever. Something.

"I, uh… I just wanted to apologize for the other day."

_...what?_

Daryl stills but doesn't turn around.

"I know you were only trying to help and I snapped at you, and I'm sorry for that."

_Oh._

No one ever apologized to Daryl before. Any fight with Merle ended with jabs and jeers about being a girl and still pouting about whatever shit Merle pulled, making Daryl feel angry and helpless and humiliated at the same time.

As is the case with anything and everything else so far, Paul is different.

And he _does_ sounds really sorry. And sincere.

Daryl bites his lip and finally looks over.

Paul is wide-eyed and obviously nervous, looking completely out of his comfort zone. Daryl absently wonders if he ever did this before, if he had any friends to fight and make up with at some point, before. Or if he's just like Daryl -- on his own and always has been.

"That's all I wanted to say," Paul finishes, voice soft, picking at the books he's holding against his chest in a nervous tic.

It melts Daryl's anger, seeing Paul so contrite and sad, wipes it away like it never even existed.

Daryl nods. "Okay."

He closes his locker slowly, knowing he has to get to class but not really wanting to move, to avoid breaking this spell.

Despite everything that's happened, despite the gay thing that kind of threw Daryl for a loop for a while there ( _you mean the_ liking boys _thing_ , a voice whispers in his head), Paul is still the best thing that happened to him in a long time. He hasn't felt this comfortable with someone, had anyone just for himself in... Well, ever.

And these last few days, remembering all the crap Merle and his old man used to say, it made Daryl afraid he'll say something stupid and ignorant to Paul without even thinking about it. That he'll go and ruin whatever Paul saw in him by opening his big mouth, and so he didn't, and he stayed away as much as he could, and he just made everything worse.

Well, no more.

Merle and his old man didn't know shit, and Daryl won't make the same mistakes as them. He can do better than that; he can _be_ better than that. Paul is one of the best people Daryl knows, and judging him or thinking he's 'less' because of who he happens to be attracted to is _stupid_. And being afraid _he'll_ judge Daryl and reject him is even stupider.

Paul has a heart the size of a damn boulder.

"But I really can take care of myself, I promise. I can show you sometime, if you want," Paul breaks the silence hesitantly, face dominated by large eyes.

"Nah, don't need all that ninja bullshit," Daryl says with a smirk.

"Okay," Paul breathes out in a chuckle.

He still sounds like a watered-down version of himself, and Daryl hates it.

"See you around?" Paul continues after a few beats, sounding hopeful.

"Yeah," Daryl nods. How can he say anything but yes when Paul's looking like a kicked puppy?

Daryl forces himself to walk away, still needing time to cool off and process, but determined to fix this mess somehow.

Paul became way too important to him way too fast, literally while Daryl wasn't even looking, and he can't let them drift apart like this.

They'll be back to their usual selves soon enough.

Daryl will make sure of it.

~*~

For some reason, Daryl wanders around in the glade near Barrington House on Saturday.

'Some reason' appears barely an hour in, like they arranged this meeting.

Daryl supposes they did, in a way, knowing each other's habits and schedules so well.

"Putting off homework?" Paul asks, once Daryl waves at him and he dares to approach.

Daryl snorts and nods. Paul nods back and rubs at the palm of his left hand with the thumb of his right, a nervous gesture Daryl noticed before.

The atmosphere is still strained and subdued, and Daryl flounders at what to do to make it better. Words aren't his thing, that was always more Paul's area, but surely there's _something_ he can do. It's probably going to take a big gesture to show Paul he's ok with everything and that he doesn't care about the fight anymore, but what?

"I can't really do it now, anyway, Bertie is on the computer at Barrington and I don't feel like going to the library," Paul says, more rambling aimlessly than expecting an answer, it seems.

_Huh._

"You can borrow my laptop, if you want. Tyreese gave me his old one," Daryl says.

" _Oh._ Uhh, okay... Thanks," Paul says hesitantly.

"Need any books or somethin'?" Daryl asks, and Paul just grows more confused for some reason.

"Um, no, it's a paper on the assigned reading and I did that already. I have an outline in my head and everything, I just need to type it up."

"Okay," Daryl says and start walking toward his trailer. He stops when he sees Paul isn't following.

"You comin'?" Daryl says, and it finally seems to dawn to Paul that Daryl _invited him to his trailer_.

The pleased shock on Paul's face is almost worth everything that happened to lead them here.

Almost.

"Yeah, yes, I'm coming," Paul says in a rush, and comes up to Daryl in two springy steps.

He keeps throwing Daryl happy glances as they walk through the woods and Daryl struggles to keep a straight face. He finally cracks after a minute and pushes Paul playfully, and Paul barks out a delighted laugh and pushes him back.

And Daryl's world realigns itself back to normal.

~*~

Daryl never looked at his trailer as a stranger would, but when he walks up the two steps in front of Paul that afternoon and opens the door, he experiences one of those disorienting moments where he's seeing it as if for the first time.

It's small but neat, painted mint green since last summer when Daryl didn't have anything better to do one lazy afternoon. The door opens straight into the living area with a couch and a tv, a tiny kitchenette with a fold-out table adjacent. To the left is the hallway with the closet space, shower, and bathroom, the only bedroom at the very end. There's not a lot of space but it's not cramped, either.

"You live here with you parents?" Paul asks, curious eyes flickering everywhere.

It's probably strange for him not to know this, considering they've been hanging out for almost a month now and that rumors are always rampant about Dixons and what happened to that poor trailer trash boy, but they've both instinctively steered clear of the topic of parents and families. Daryl knows why he doesn't like talking about it, and can guess pretty well why Paul doesn't, either, so they just didn't.

Time to poke a finger in that bleeding wound, too.

"No, 'm an emancipated minor. Means I can make my own decisions if I stay out of trouble. Rick, this cop I know, vouched for me."

That makes Paul stop looking around and he pauses before asking quietly, "Where are your parents?"

"Dead. Both of 'em. All I got is my brother Merle, but he's in the army."

"Okay," Paul says, and the fact that he doesn't say he's sorry or something equally inane and useless makes Daryl breathe a little easier.

"My Mom and Grandma died when I was five. I've been in the system since," Paul says, and there's not a lot Daryl can say to that so he just nods.

They stand around for a few seconds, looking in different directions, and then Daryl remembers Michonne tried to drill some manners into him when he was at dinner a while ago.

"Um, wanna drink somethin'? I got soda and water..."

"Sure, a soda would be great," Paul says, and Daryl turns to get it for him.

Paul pokes around a bit in the small living space, and finds Daryl's biology project. He continued with it, as planned, and it's turning out pretty great, if you ask Daryl.

Paul looks impressed, too, and turns to him with raised eyebrows.

"Dude, your herbarium is _huge_! Where did you even find all these plants? Man, I knew I had no chance at getting that extra credit."

"Shuddup," Daryl says with a hint of pink to his cheeks and pushes Paul away with a palm to the face, minding his strength.

"C'mon, my laptop is over here."

And just like that, they're back on track.

~*~

They end up doing their homework on Daryl's bed, laying on their stomachs, shoulders brushing. Snacks are all around them, chips and gummi bears and chocolate, and even a lone apple just in case. Paul types something up on Daryl's battered laptop every so often, but he seems more into rambling at Daryl and bugging him with cute animal videos than actual homework.

Daryl scowls and grumbles, but finds he can do his math problem sets without difficulty even with Paul acting like a little shit. The zen-type calm he usually gets from it is multiplied by the feeling of a warm, talking, friendly body next to him, not asking anything of Daryl but occasionally his attention, perfectly content to be right where he is.

The two hours he spends on that bed with Paul are probably the most content Daryl has ever been in this trailer.

~*~

After Paul leaves, way too early for their tastes but almost curfew at Barrington, Daryl picks up their trash and cleans up a bit, then goes to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

The covers smell a little bit like Paul, Daryl notices once he slides under the sheets, something uniquely him mixed with teenage boy and fresh outdoors.

It's a really nice smell. Makes him feel less alone.

Daryl inhales deeply and smiles into the dark, and soon drifts off into pleasant dreams.


	10. Chapter 10

Paul is having a really bad day.

It was bound to happen, things were going too well lately. He had friends (Maggie, Glenn, Nabila from self-defense class), Daryl and him got over that little snag and are closer than ever, school was fine, Barrington was decent -- he's been walking on clouds for days.

Life was almost too good to be true.

But today, for some reason, everything bugs him.

It's nothing specific, there's no cause or logical reason for it at all, but he's cranky and grouchy and anxious at turns, and on and on in endless circles.

It's slowly pissing him off.

The frustration builds, unstoppably and inevitably, and by lunch he's doing breathing exercises just so he doesn't bite the head off the next person that talks to him. (Nabila took one look at him a few minutes ago, sitting in the cafeteria with a thundercloud over his head, and just turned around and walked away. Sometimes Paul likes her best of all his friends.)

Daryl smacks his tray down on the table next to him and Paul jumps, so focused on his inhaling and exhaling that he hadn't even noticed him coming.

" _Jesus_ ," he snaps, heartbeat racing.

Daryl pauses.

"What crawled up your butt and died?" he says gruffly, taking a huge bite out of his sandwich, completely uncaring of Paul's foul mood.

Paul deflates.

"Sorry, shitty day," he says, rubbing his temples. His headache is making him nauseous, or maybe his stomachache is making his head ache in turn, he has no idea which caused which and why, but it _hurts_.

Daryl watches him silently for a few moments then swallows and grabs his backpack, rummaging in one of the compartments until he finds a small pouch.

"Here," he says, and thrusts something under Paul's nose.

Paul recoils with a 'what the hell' frown on his face, but then the smell hits him.

It's fresh mint, leaves a bit crushed by Daryl's fingers, and it blows through Paul's sinuses and mind like a light breeze.

"Whoa," he says, comes back and yanks Daryl's hand towards him, and inhales deeply. His mind grows quiet for some reason, the noise and general stuffiness of the cafeteria suddenly not bothering him as much.

"Thanks," he smiles as he takes the leaves, hands sliding off Daryl's a beat too late, reluctantly.

Daryl just grunts and goes back to his sandwich, biting off almost half of it and chewing in an obnoxious, typically Daryl way.

Paul shakes his head fondly and starts on his own lunch, breathing the mint in every time his head starts aching again.

He's calm and clearheaded by the end of lunch, and while he still needs to reach for the mint during the rest of the classes, it's definitely much better than it could've been.

_Daryl to the rescue again._

Paul wonders if this will set a pattern of behavior, and if it does, how much it would bother him.

Not a whole lot, he concludes once he thinks about it, since it seems to come from a place of genuine care rather than overprotective posturing. Daryl is one of the most genuine people he knows, straightforward in his manners and motives. He wouldn't interfere without cause, but he'll step up if he sees he can help in some way.

It's kind of awesome, knowing he has Daryl at his back as a silent support. He's never had that before.

Paul smiles to himself, takes another breath of the mint that's crushed and all but faded by now, and texts Daryl as he leaves the school.

Daryl to the rescue, indeed.

~*~

Thanksgiving comes in a rush, almost as a surprise. The four days off seem like eternity, especially since he'll get to hang out with Daryl for most of it.

The other teen has dinner at Rick's on Thursday and Paul has a mandatory dinner at Barrington, all the kids who don't have prior plans with family or relatives obliged to be there, but otherwise they're both free.

The dinner is as pointless as anything at Barrington, and Paul can't wait to escape on Friday, running through the woods at top speed to work off some of his restlessness. He's at Daryl's trailer in no time, barging in with a perfunctory knock and continuing into the bedroom when he sees Daryl isn't in the living area.

"Hey, Daryl--" Paul starts as he walks into the bedroom and promptly catches an eyeful of Daryl's bare back.

His heavily scarred back, and seeing the angry horizontal line on Daryl's waist leaves him frozen with horror and simultaneously throws him back to the beginning of the school year, to the first time he saw the scar. When he decided it was none of his business and just kept walking.

And now? Now he wants to find whoever did this and _rip them apart_ with bare hands, make them pay for ever laying a finger on Daryl.

He'd seen and heard awful things at various homes, of course he did, the world is a horrible place, especially for an orphan. But this is _Daryl_ that's suffering, _Daryl_ that got beaten so severely so many times, permanent marks are left embedded in his skin, and that fact alone makes all the difference in the world.

Daryl spins around at the intrusion and _oh, god_ , his chest is also scarred.

Paul's vision blurs a little and he claps a hand on his mouth to stop a noise from coming out, having no idea if it would've been a sound of grief or rage.

The motion makes Daryl stop in his tracks, anger at the unwanted intrusion draining away at Paul's obvious distress. He's frozen for a long moment, seemingly unable to decide what he wants to do, before moving again.

He slowly pulls on the t-shirt he's holding, smoothing it out over his belly nervously once he's done, and avoids Paul's eyes. It's almost as if he's ashamed--

Oh.

_Oh, no._

Paul heart cracks with an almost audible sound, and he can't take this, his heart just _can't_ \-- in two large steps he collides with Daryl and wraps both arms around his waist, holding on as tight as he possibly can.

He can feel Daryl's anxious heartbeat going a mile a minute against his own chest, two thin layers of cotton no match for the rapid thump and their torsos pressed against one another.

Daryl's hands touch his shoulder blades tentatively, hesitantly, but Paul doesn't let go.

There's no force on this Earth that could separate him from Daryl right now.

He clings until Daryl hugs back, hands clenched into fists, wrinkling Paul's t-shirt. Daryl's breath hitches, damp against the nape of Paul's neck, and they both shiver.

There's an awful sort of desperation in Daryl's grip, like he doesn't dare let go in case this is just a dream. Like he finally got something he craved after for literal years, and can't quite believe it's true.

They stand and hold each other for long minutes, and if there's wetness spreading on Paul's shoulder, neither of them mentions it.

It's not the time for talking anyway.

~*~

They spend the day in the trailer, sudden rain forcing them to stay cooped up and making it too muddy to go outside once it stops in the late afternoon.

They talk a little, carefully steering clear of anything too heavy, watch TV, and play a bit of Mario Kart on Daryl's old Nintendo console. He got it from Rick when the cop bought Carl a new one, but Daryl never even used it until now.

It turns out to be fun, once they've gotten the hang of it, and they both cheat and fail outrageously.

Paul laughs so hard his entire stomach hurts, muscles he never even knew existed aching from the sudden workout.

He goes back to the home as late as possible, Daryl walking him half-way there so he doesn't get lost in the dark. Not that he would, even _he_ can follow a clear path he's been down before, but it's sweet, the way Daryl worries.

Paul falls asleep star-fished on his bed, staring at the ceiling and grinning to himself like a fool.

~*~

Saturday and Sunday are spent lazing about in the trailer, again, and rambling around in the woods, and even going into town for some milkshakes and fries.

They run into Glenn and Maggie at the diner, and it's familiar and completely comfortable, hanging out just the four of them. Their school dynamic seems to translate to this new environment easily, to Paul's relief.

About half an hour later they separate, the couple headed to the movies and Paul and Daryl back to their neighborhood, walking instead of taking a bus because they have nothing better to do.

They end up chasing each other like children in a random field for almost twenty minutes, laughing and yelling out playful insults, and Paul almost slams full force into an old wooden fence because he keeps looking at Daryl behind him rather than which direction he's running in.

After another five minutes of lying down and catching their breath they continue on, arms brushing every so often as they walk.

~*~

Other than the snag on Friday, the long weekend is completely uneventful and borderline boring.

It's totally fucking perfect.


	11. Chapter 11

Daryl is having some... trouble.

Problems, if you will.

He's...

Well.

He keeps wanting to touch Paul.

To reach out for him. To pull him in, come closer.

It's getting really, really distracting.

There were questions and distant curiosities in his mind before, stuff like

_What would Paul's heartbeat feel like under my palm?_

and

_What would Paul's hair feel like at the back of his neck, where it's the shortest and looks baby fine?_

and recently, quiet and in the very back of his thoughts,

_What would Paul's body feel like pressed against mine?_

But since last Friday, when Paul saw his scars and reacted the way he did, this sudden _craving_ came to life with a burning intensity, and it's getting harder and harder to ignore.

He's twitching with restraint _constantly_ , limbs betraying him like never before -- so much so that Paul notices and starts making fun of him for developing a drug habit without him.

Daryl just scoffs and snarks back, but frowns once Paul walks off.

_Shit._

~*~

He soon finds out that sitting a little closer to Paul helps. A lot, actually.

Sliding his palm down Paul's arm to grab his forearm and drag him somewhere feels amazing, but he limits himself to one such move a day.

Because it'd be weird otherwise, right?

Pressing against Paul's side or having their arms brush while walking is the best, though, his entire body tingling with giddiness. And the high lasts the longest, he can stay content almost an entire class or two after that.

It's the last thought that makes him freeze, the teacher's droning in the background feeling like a sound effect in a horror movie soundtrack.

_Dear lord_ , he _is_ a drug-addict.

He's even thinking in terms of highs and lows, and how much time he can let pass until the next fix.

_This is horrible._

Daryl almost slams his head against his desk.

~*~

He still does it, though.

All of it.

Every single move, and feint, and finds even more inventive ways to play this game of touch-chicken. He hopes neither Maggie nor Glenn notice, but they're often too busy making googly-eyes at each other to see literally anything else, so that's good.

Paul doesn't say a word, but he does lean in, stays close, _presses back_ every time.

That, at least, makes Daryl feel a little bit better.

A little bit.

~*~

He almost asks Tara about it when she drops by his trailer on patrol one night, as she usually does when she works evenings, but can't get the words out.

What would he even _ask_?

_What does it mean when you want to touch someone all the time?_

_How do you figure out if someone's skin is addictive?_

_Is this what a crush feels like?_

_Is_ this a crush?

Daryl has exactly zero experience with it, he's never had a crush in his life. And it's not even the fact that Paul is a guy, though that's also tripping him up a bit. It's just that he never felt anything like this before, and can't tell if this warmth and squirming in his belly is just a really close friendship or something more.

What, exactly, would include 'something more' is another problem.

He always found it weird when Merle talked about all the women he hooked up with, never even remembering their names after the night in question. How do you let a stranger so near you, someone whose name you don't even know? How do you let them see you naked, vulnerable, let them read the past written on your skin?

Not to mention the sex part. None of it ever looked even the slightest bit appealing, the few times he stumbled upon some porn. It looked so soulless and clinical, it made Daryl sick to his stomach, still does if he thinks about it for too long.

He always figured something was wrong with him ( _defective_ , as his old man used to say) and left it at that. Merle fucked off long before Daryl was in his teens anyway, so meaningless hooking up was something he didn't have to act his way through.

Now, though, this can of worms burst open without his permission, and Daryl has no idea what to do.

He can't even ask Paul, for Christ's sake, irony of all ironies.

(There's no way he can ask Glenn. It's like asking Maggie, too, they're basically conjoined twins, and way too starry-eyed and earnest. It's borderline nauseating.)

Daryl sighs and falls back onto his bed dramatically, done for the night.

Feelings are _hard_ , man.

He falls asleep with a tiny frown, nowhere near a solution.

~*~

"Why haven't I shown up at your job yet? Jobs? Yeah, that. Wanna see you in your 'work habitat'," Paul mumbles randomly one morning on the bus, sitting in the seat next to the window this time.

They figured out, after a few embarrassing injuries, that Paul has to have something to lean against to not freaking _brain himself_ once he inevitably nods off, so he now sits on the inside seat.

"Still gonna get a kick in the butt if you show up," Daryl says with a flick to Paul's ear.

Paul opens one eye and says 'ow' in a deadpan voice, and then, "You like my butt."

"Man, you're outta your mind, go back to sleep," Daryl snorts, and Paul breathes a tiny laugh and leans more comfortably against the window, folded arm a makeshift pillow.

Thing is, Daryl really does like Paul's butt. It's a nice butt. And it's attached to Paul, so that's a huge plus.

Daryl's cheeks burn at his line of thought, but luckily no one's awake enough to see.

~*~

They're at Daryl's trailer on a Friday evening, watching some random movie on TV, when it happens.

Paul is pouring water for them to drink and ranting about something related to the plot and characters, as he usually does. You'd think he's getting paid by the word for every flaw he finds in the films, the way he goes on.

He turns around and gestures passionately, and hits his elbow on a cabinet, hard.

Paul yelps, more startled than in pain, and the glass in his other hand slips and shatters into a million pieces, water and shards spreading across the trailer floor in all directions.

The noise is unexpected, so loud and _familiar_ that Daryl flinches violently and stops breathing. One of his old man's rages hits him in vivid Technicolor, and he half-expects a belt to hit his chest or back any second.

"Daryl?" comes Paul's voice, from very far away.

He's not touching Daryl, thankfully, because that would probably end badly. Not that Daryl would try to hit him, that would never happen. Flailing limbs and moving around were beaten out of him very early on. Best to stay still and as silent as possible, otherwise you'd get a double serving of whatever the old man intended to dish out that night.

No, Daryl would probably pull back even further into himself, go deeper into that dark, safe place, and that's wouldn't be good right now.

It's not something he wants Paul to see, either.

"Daryl?" Paul repeats with a dose of panic this time, and it's that foreign sound more than anything that pulls him back into reality.

No one besides Daryl himself ever panicked when things turned bad.

Pulling on all the years of snapping out of stupors and immobility so he wouldn't get into even bigger trouble, Daryl emerges from his own head, the inhale turning into a gasp for air.

"Hey, hey, it's ok, it's just me," Paul says, hovering, looking wide-eyed and a little freaked out.

"Sorry, sorry," Daryl says, trying to _make_ his heartbeat slow down but it's not going so well.

"What, no! Stop that, there's nothing to be sorry for, _god_ ," Paul says, and Daryl is still struggling but he feels better by the second, which means he's also growing more and more embarrassed.

_Shit, great job, Daryl. Way to make it clear just how big of a freak you are._

Paul is apparently much more adept at being a normal human being, and decides to redirect their attention and save them both.

"Shit, where's your broom? I need to clean this up."

"Under the sink," Daryl says, and strangely, watching Paul clumsily clean the floor calms him the rest of the way down.

"What was that?" Paul asks casually a few minutes later, once they're back to watching the movie.

And Daryl knows Paul won't mind if he doesn't answer, won't ever mention it again because he's a good friend like that, but Daryl doesn't want that.

He _wants_ to tell someone what happened to him. Why he acts like he does, what's the story behind his scars, his flinches, his panic attacks.

He wants to tell _Paul_ all of it.

"My old man... He was a mean drunk. Used to throw stuff. Glasses, mostly, but whatever he could get his hands on at the time."

Paul doesn't look at him, but Daryl can see his jaw clench out of the corner of his eye. It gives him the strength to keep talking, get all the poison out of wounds that were left to fester for way too long.

"I ain't good with sudden noises, 'specially broken glass. Freaks me out. Booze, too. I ain't got nothing against it, but I can't stand the smell of it. Makes me sick to my stomach," Daryl says quietly.

A hand finds his blindly and grips tight in wordless support.

It's an incredible relief, getting all that off his chest, short and choppy as it was. The hand covering his feels like a lifeline, and is equally, incredibly welcome.

They sit in silence for a few minutes after that, both pretending to watch TV but clearly just processing.

"My Mom died when I was five," Paul says, throat clicking as he swallows. "Grandma, too. Stupid car accident. I remember very little of them, mostly impressions and blurry faces, but I do know they loved me. I remember _feeling_ it, their love, in their hugs and kisses and the time they spent making sure I'm safe and happy and healthy."

Daryl listens, fascinated, as Paul describes something he never had, never even knew existed besides in theory.

He doesn't know what's worse, never having that sort of love, or having it and then losing it forever.

"I still can't ride in a car without being nauseous to the point of throwing up. Though I haven't had a chance to try it for a while now, either, I guess I could be over it."

Paul slumps into the couch, as if drained by the confession, and squeezes the hand that's still entwined with his.

Daryl scoots a bit closer, just a little, and Paul gets the hint, of course he does.

He slides sideways until their sides are touching, until he can lay his head on Daryl's shoulder.

It's like a warm blanket, this feeling of understanding and being understood, and Daryl's muscles melt with relief.

They stay that way until it's time for Paul to leave.


	12. Chapter 12

With all the changes in his life lately, all the feelings and discoveries and pining, Paul completely forgot about one thing.

His wannabe bullies.

He's walking to the nearest bus stop just after dark, scrolling through the messages on his phone listlessly and wondering which job Daryl should be getting out of right now (he changed shifts recently and Paul isn't sure if it was temporary or not) when someone pushes him from behind, way too hard to be an accident.

Only the endless hours he's spent training save him, body rolling over one shoulder automatically as he comes back up on his feet in seconds.

The Jock Dickhead is behind him, eyes cruel as always, a sneer on his lips. And he brought along the two friends, how sweet.

Looks like Paul will finally get the fight he was so pumped for before Daryl interrupted.

"Hey, orphan boy," he says, but before he can get started on a Villain Monologue (no trademark because this dick doesn't have an original bone in his body), Paul interrupts with an eye roll.

"Spare me the speech, please, I've heard it before. If you think you can take me, come and get it," he says, and grins at the fury spreading on all three of their faces.

"Get 'im," the leader yells like the king of clichés he is, and they all descend upon him.

He ducks a few fists, spins out of the way of a clumsy kick, and then deflects the leader's punch and delivers his own, straight to his ugly face.

It's a free-for-all after that.

~*~

The fight is fairly short but brutal.

He takes a few hits on the account of sheer size difference and the fact there's three of them and one of him, _and_ because he has to be careful not to seriously injure any of them, but he definitely gives more than he gets.

The thing about training as much and as long as he had, is that you know how to take a punch. These assholes know only how to dole out punches, how to inflict pain in all shapes and forms, and never how to take it.

Paul mercilessly and exuberantly exploits that.

After a long minute of the three of them ending up meeting the pavement constantly (Paul slams, hits, kicks, knees, elbows, and punches with great precision and utter glee, inflicting a ton of bruises in meaty and bony places and a black eye or two) while the most Paul gets is a split lip and an accidental glance off the arch of his eyebrow that bleeds a little, they run off, limping and groaning.

Even they have enough brains to figure out they're getting the short end of the stick, football head injuries aside.

Paul stares after them until they're out of sight, then hunches over a little, stomach tender from a meaty fist that he caught when evading another meaty fist in the head.

There were a lot of fists flying around, okay, he was bound to catch some.

Still, _ow_. That will hurt tomorrow.

He picks up his backpack and walks away, a little tired but strangely calm.

Looks like a little fisticuffs every so often really is a cure for the nerves.

~*~

He ends up at Daryl's, _of course_ he does.

He didn't even think, just walked automatically and here he is, knocking on familiar doors.

In the time it takes for Daryl to open Paul briefly considers turning around and going to Barrington, but he dismisses the thought almost immediately. They'd just ask questions, probably even blame him for this shit, and he doesn't need that right now.

Daryl opens the door and stops in his tracks, eyes wide and darting all over Paul's face.

"What the hell?"

He drags Paul in before he can say anything, sitting him down at the couch and pulling out a depressingly well-stocked first aid kid practically from thin air. A blanket gets wrapped around Paul's shoulders, too, since all the adrenaline draining out of his body left him feeling chilled and shivering.

"The assholes from a few weeks ago waited for me, must've seen me stay at the library after school," Paul says, wincing at the sting of alcohol Daryl's cleaning his eyebrow with.

"Football dicks?" Daryl asks, doing a passable imitation of nonchalant, but Paul can see right through him. He'd shake with rage if it didn't interfere with his Nurse routine.

"Hey, don't do anything stupid," he says, trying to catch Daryl's eyes.

"Nah," Daryl says, and it _sounds_ like confirmation but it's really not.

"Daryl," Paul says, exasperated, and Daryl snaps.

"How're you _so fuckin' calm_?" he almost hisses out, teeth gritted, apparently ready to go out and beat them all into the ground immediately.

"I'm used to it," Paul shrugs.

Daryl frowns, anger still there but a helpless sort of recognition and familiarity taking over.

Paul abruptly remembers that Daryl also knows what this feels like, though in a vastly different situation. Hell, he was probably more used to it than him, having to live with his abuser for years.

Anxiety and regret at his flippant tone churn in his stomach.

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't be," Daryl says simply, as he carefully puts a butterfly bandage on Paul's forehead.

"Hey, I already kicked their asses, no need for you to add insult to injury," Paul says with a smirk.

Daryl rolls his eyes but loses some of the tension in his shoulders. He cleans up Paul's lip, too, but that's just a small split and no bandages are needed.

"Whooped some ass with your ninja shit, huh?" Daryl says, a small smile pulling at his lips.

"Yep," Paul says proudly, and then ruins it by yelping when Daryl aims a playful poke at his stomach. But _shit_ , that hurt for a second.

"What, what," Daryl says urgently, pulling up his t-shirt without even asking, the asshole. "I don't see anything."

"It'll probably bruise soon, I caught a fist to my stomach. Nothing much, it's just a bit tender."

"Catch one to head, too, you fool? We gotta go to the hospital. I can call Rick, hang on," Daryl says in a rush and stands up, and wow, he must be really worried to ramble like this.

Warmth spreads through Paul, affection rushing from head to toe, and he catches Daryl's hands and makes him sit back down.

"I told you I'm fine, Daryl, seriously. No fists to the head besides this eyebrow thing. And look, my pupils are the same size, right?"

Daryl tilts Paul's head up and looks into his eyes carefully, like he's going to be doing surgery soon, or at least be tested on the size and shape of said pupils, and Paul smiles helplessly.

"See? All good. Promise. And you can call Rick if you see me behaving strangely, or start talking gibberish. Okay?"

Daryl looks at him suspiciously but relents.

"Fine. But I dunno how 'm I supposed to tell, you always talk gibberish to me," he says with a smirk, and it's his turn to yelp when Paul pinches his side mercilessly.

"Prick."

"Asshole."

They look at each other and smile like fools, Paul's heartbeat thumping a steady _Da-ryl Da-ryl Da-ryl_ helplessly.

Every time Paul thinks he can't possibly like Daryl any more, that he can't fall any deeper into this hole of his own doing, he's proved wrong. Daryl gives and gives and _gives_ , and Paul doesn't understand why him, what made Daryl think he's worth it, but he can't give it up.

Won't, ever, not in a million years. He's keeping Daryl as long as he can, as long as Daryl wants to stay with him.

"C'mon, stretch out on the couch," Daryl says, and Paul protests but still ends up with his legs in Daryl's lap.

It's a good place to be, though, so Paul shuts up and enjoys it while he can.

~*~

There's nothing more Paul would love than to spend the night at Daryl's trailer, but he would be missed at Barrington, so he and Daryl head through the glade after an hour or so.

Daryl insists on walking Paul all the way up to the gate, grumbling about head injuries and getting eaten by wild animals while passed out in the woods.

It sounds really creepy and strangely plausible, so Paul allows it.

He manages to sneak into the building with no one seeing his bandage, and gets into bed before Kal even comes up to the room.

Turning to the wall is just common sense, and Paul expects a long evening staring into a single point while waiting to fall asleep, but all the excitement catches up to him.

He's out like a light in minutes, slipping into a deep, healing, dreamless sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

The fallout from the attack on Paul is small but downright _explosive_.

Maggie, Nabila, and most girls from Paul's class are outraged in that cold 'I'll make them pay for this sooner or later' way, which is genuinely terrifying. Daryl steers clear of all of them because, while he'd probably approve of whatever they're doing, he doesn't understand the way their minds work at all.

Like, not even a little bit.

Glenn had some kind of shrewd and calculated look on his face when he heard, one that spells trouble. Daryl doesn't know what he's planning but 'plausible deniability' is one of the phrases he learned from a very young age. He doesn't want to know. (And once all the jocks' chemistry experiments start getting F's no matter how much they practice and watch them like hawks, he's glad he didn't ask. Glenn is scary when he wants to be.)

Daryl himself is stomping around like an enraged tiger, people getting out of his way rapidly when they see him coming in the hallways. He takes to being a bodyguard for Paul when they're walking together, mowing a path in front of them to keep Paul from being _touched_ , let alone pushed or tripped.

He refrains from walking him to every class, though, more because Paul would be pissed than out of practical reasons like getting to his own classes on time. But he would do it, he so would, in a fucking heartbeat. He'd follow Paul around and keep him safe, for as long as Paul would let him.

And then there's _Jerry_.

None of them have ever really spoken to Jerry, and he happens to be on the football team so he arrives to a cold reception, but it turns out he just stopped by to tell them he's keeping an eye out and they can always come to him for help.

They're all a bit taken aback -- no one even knows how he found out about what happened in the first place -- but Paul nonetheless thanks him politely for the support. Jerry just waves it away and goes 'Dude, of course', and leaves.

Daryl is left with an impression that Paul would clean and very politely return a _knife he was stabbed with_ , and that makes him want to shake, protect, and hug the little asshole even more.

He settles for going with Paul to his next class, walking closer than usual.

~*~

The jocks are nowhere to be seen, which is weird since they probably have enough friends and back-up to beat them into the ground.

It could be Daryl's glare, or Glenn's messing with their schoolwork, or part one of the girls' revenge, because suddenly there are anti-bullying posters _everywhere_ , along with mandatory rallies and meetings with the school counselor. Most of the posters have men with various football-looking hoodies on as villains, and you can't keep playing or participating in any school activity if you haven't been to at least one meeting.

Lucky Daryl doesn't do any of the joiner shit so he gets a free pass. And if what happened to Paul wasn't so infuriating, seeing all those dickheads squirm and complain would be funny as hell.

Paul is completely shocked by all their reactions, trying to play it down and laugh it off but Daryl sees through it. He's touched and genuinely shaken, and if Daryl's right ( _he is_ ), Paul probably also thinks he doesn't deserve all the fuss.

Daryl isn't sure how to explain that he'd _burn the entire school down_ if anyone touches him again. That seeing a single bruise on Paul's skin is like feeling the pain of ten blooming on his own. That the need to do something, hurt someone back for the pain inflicted, claws like a wild animal inside his chest.

He can't put it into words, so he doesn't.

Paul will figure it out soon enough. Or he won't, it doesn't really matter.

It's just... alien and unimaginable to Daryl, that someone would look at Paul and not want to protect him, that someone would be indifferent or even malicious towards him.

The thought makes him sick to his stomach.

_Never again._

~*~

On Thursday one of the jocks -- not one of the three that attacked Paul but a friend of theirs, Daryl's seen them goofing around together -- tries to talk to Paul.

What he wanted to say will forever be a mystery (begging for mercy for them all, probably?) because he doesn't even get to open his mouth before Nabila steps between the two. She's a plump, five foot nothing girl, and she throws the tall guy over her shoulder and on his ass so fast the thump echoes through the hallway.

It's so surprising and fucking _hilarious_ that Daryl starts cackling his ass off, hunched helplessly. The corridor is a mess of sound, half of the people jeering, the other half looking on in shock.

The jock stays on the floor, dazed, while Nabila frowns down at him disappointedly.

Paul is appalled, and jumps in between them, babbling. "Nabila, oh my god, no, what--"

"Teacher incoming!" someone helpfully yells out, and everyone starts to disperse in a rapid but practiced and orderly manner.

Daryl drags Paul off before he can do something stupid like help the jock, or try to take the fall for this.

Let the dick sort this out if he has the guts.

Daryl's keeping his Paul out of it.

~*~

Daryl finds out about Paul's birthday _on the day in question_ , and by complete accident at that.

Well, if you can call Maggie finding out about it from her friend whats-his-name, the one that works at the gym and has seen Paul's application, and then mentioning it to Daryl in that casual 'what are you getting Paul for his birthday'-way an 'accident'.

He strides up to the little prick in question and pushes his shoulder, a bit harder than he usually would, but then again he's a bit pissed right now.

"What the hell, man? Why didn't you tell me it was your birthday today?"

"Oh, I..." Paul trails off, clearly uncomfortable. "I didn't want to make a big deal out of it? And I didn't know how to mention it, everything I could think of sounded... weird."

" _'My birthday's tomorrow'_ \-- there, that's how you do it, you knucklehead," Daryl says, and pushes him again.

Paul kind of smiles but he's still tense, and this isn't just awkwardness about his birthday, there's more to this story.

Daryl reevaluates and decides to drop it for now.

Paul will come to him if he needs to, or deal with it alone if that's better. No need to push.

"We hangin' out today?" Daryl asks, and Paul nods.

"Yeah, see you at yours after 8."

Daryl nods and holds his hand out for a fist bump, and Paul smiles at him fondly and returns the gesture.

~*~

On his way home from work Daryl buys a cupcake and a single candle, as well as the biggest bag of gummi bears he could find. It's not much, probably nothing like Paul's used to getting over the years, but it's the thought that counts.

He puts the cupcake and the gummies on the counter and cleans up a little, waiting for Paul to show up. It's not long, and he yells from outside as he always does, doesn't even bother knocking anymore, the asshole.

"Hey, Daryl, you better be decent in here because I'm coming in," he drawls the last word gleefully, and stops in his tracks when he sees Daryl standing next to the cupcake. Daryl shifts uncomfortably at the piercing look but stays put.

"What... what's this?" Paul says, eyes huge, like he can't believe what he's seeing.

"Happy birthday," Daryl says simply, picks up the cupcake and lights the candle with a lighter his brother left behind.

"Make a wish."

Paul swallows and approaches, eyes trained on Daryl.

There are entire galaxies in his eyes, ones Daryl could spend the rest of his life mapping out and getting lost in, and it's such a strange and appealing thought it scares the hell out of him.

Daryl's breathing hitches but he stays, _he stays_ , there's nowhere else he wants to be.

Paul smiles, wide and just a little sad, closes his eyes and blows out the candle.

~*~

They're hanging out and talking over the TV, cupcake long split between them and mere crumbs left of it now, when Paul changes the subject almost mid-sentence.

"Sorry, about today. I wanted to tell you, but..." he trails off on a sigh, then continues, eyes far away. "I haven't really celebrated my birthday since Before. The first couple of years I refused to, and then it kind of became a habit. Didn't have anyone to celebrate it with, anyway, and that kind of makes it a moot point."

Daryl stays quiet, not moving in case it breaks the spell and Paul stops sharing. He wants to know everything there is about Paul, the good and the bad.

"I just... wanted you to know that I didn't hide it from you because of you. You're... you're one of the most important people in my life, you know? I tell you everything, even the random thoughts in my head. But this is..." Paul licks his lips and continues, obviously forcing himself to get through this speech. "The crash happened while we were driving back from my birthday party, so... Happy birthday to me," Paul says softly, with a self-deprecating, crooked smile. His forehead is still a fading yellow, lip healed to a thin red line, and he looks... sad. And small.

Daryl stares at him, sympathy throbbing in his chest. Daryl hasn't celebrated his birthday in years either, not since he was ten and his present was a pack of cigarettes thrown at his head. But this year Rick and Michonne made him a small cake, Abraham gave him a clap on the back and a day off, and Sasha and Tyreese brought a cupcake to work the day after.

No one at school knew about it. Maybe Glenn would have done something, if they knew each other then. Daryl thinks he probably would.

How does someone like Daryl end up with more people in his life than Paul? Why did he get more birthdays with his parents, however awful they were, than Paul did with his Momma and Grandma?

They're stupid questions, irrelevant and pointless, but it bothers Daryl, this unfair way life treats Paul.

He lurches forward and awkwardly hugs the tiny ninja, trying to convey the one thing that he thinks will help right now.

_You're not alone._

_Neither of us is alone anymore._

Paul hides his face in Daryl's neck and hugs back.

Daryl hopes he gets it.

~*~

"The sky is very… sky blue… And the sun is awful yellow…. And... And I hate this, this _sucks_ ," Daryl groans into his hands and Paul bursts out laughing.

"Oh my god, that was the worst sentence I have ever heard! Did you even try?"

Daryl shoves him playfully and rolls on his back on the bed, covers his eyes with the heels of his palms, frustrated by his inability to write this stupid poem for English class.

It's a few days after Paul's birthday and it still plays on his mind, all that happened, everything Paul said.

The fact that he's apparently one of the most important people in Paul's life.

_How?_

Daryl tries to figure out how he managed it, what he did for Paul to decide that, but he comes up short. Maybe it's brain damage from that fight? That's the only thing he can think of that would explain this strange, incredible development.

He hears a squeak and moves his hands, ready to make fun of Paul for whatever the hell that sound was and impatient to hear what asshole thing Paul will say next, and Paul--

Paul is suddenly very near, too fast to really react. The fond peck lands on his lips, off center and soft and electric, and it's so unexpected, so sweet and natural that Daryl almost doesn't register what happened at first.

When he does, it's like a bomb goes off in his head and chest simultaneously.

_Holy shit!_

Paul flinches away with a horrified look on his face and starts babbling.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just, it was an accident, I can't-- I'll just go now, oh my god," and he literally stumbles out the door and _runs away_ , pounding footsteps fading rapidly.

Daryl tries not to hyperventilate.

What _the fuck_ just happened?

~*~

Daryl lies on his bed and thinks, and plays the kiss over and over in his head.

And the moment before, and the moment after, and the very brief warmth of lips pressed against his.

_Paul's_ lips.

He realizes, distantly, that he should be freaking out about the fact that Paul is most definitely a boy. _Male_ , as in _shit_ , as in _holy-crap-old-man-and-Merle-would-kill-me-dead-dead-and-not-just-beaten-to-a-bloody-pulp-dead_ , but it keeps slipping away from him.

Old man is dead, Merle is far away, and Paul...

Paul is here. Paul is his best friend. Paul is smart, and brave, and generous, and _so gorgeous_.

Paul made him feel so many good things in the short period of time they know each other. Much more than Dad or Merle managed to in their whole lifetimes.

He's just so...

He's _Paul._

Somehow, that turns out to be the only thing that matters.

~*~

Daryl follows.


	14. Chapter 14

The rain is falling down in sheets, clouds grey and hanging low, and Paul's anxiety spikes higher and higher with every endless fucking moment he spends pacing in his room at Barrington.

The kiss plays in his head like a movie, over and over again, but instead of a romantic comedy it's a horror film. He sees Daryl glaring at him, pushing him away, turning his head and leaving when he sees him in the corridor, looking at him with disgust, and on and on and on, every new scenario worse than the previous one.

It's awful, so incredibly, _incredibly awful_ , and it makes Paul sick to his stomach.

_Why_ did he do it? He can't even remember what came over him, he just remembers feeling so warm and happy, thinking about how amazing Daryl is, how he bought him a cupcake.

A fucking _cupcake_.

And he was looking at the way Daryl covered his eyes in embarrassment, so adorable it hurt deep in Paul's chest, and he remembers feeling a sudden desire to kiss that pout away.

And so he... did.

And now he ruined _everything_ , the best thing that's ever happened to him, how could he be so _stupid_.

He feels like he's going mad, regret and panic chasing each other in circles, the band around his chest tightening and tightening with every second.

Finally he snaps, jams his sneakers on and runs out of Barrington in just a t-shirt and sweats, running back as if his life depends on it. He's wet in seconds but he doesn't care, just makes a beeline towards the path for Daryl's trailer and keeps going, breathless.

At least the exertion is keeping the anxiety attack at bay.

He's at the clearing about half-way between Barrington and Daryl's place when he sees an unmistakably familiar figure stuttering to a stop.

_Daryl._

He's here, _holy shit_ , he's here, and looks equally as wet as Paul.

_Oh god._

Paul walks a few more steps and stops, can't make his legs move another inch.

"I'm sorry, Daryl, I'm so sorry, please don't hate me," Paul says in despair from ten feet away, just loud enough to be heard over the hum of raindrops falling. Tears would probably be spilling down his cheeks right now, but luckily the rain takes care of that before this whole thing becomes even more heart-wrenchingly embarrassing.

Daryl's chest and shoulders are heaving with the rapid breaths he's taking, hands curled into fists at his sides as he comes closer and closer. He stops in front of Paul and just stares at him.

He has no idea what to do, no clue as to what Daryl is struggling with. This fear inside Paul's chest is terrible, and it feels like his heart will literally crack in two if Daryl rejects him.

"Daryl?" he whispers, voice shaking.

Daryl gets even closer, close enough for Paul to feel his breath on his cheek, and stops.

He stares at Paul, eyes wide and pleading, rain flattening his dark bangs and dripping from his eyelashes, the tip of his nose. His eyes are dark, color indiscernible in this light, and Paul shivers.

_What-- ?_

And then, sudden as a lightning strike, he gets it.

Daryl came as far as he dares, as far as he _can_ , and it took all the courage he had. Just like Paul a minute ago, he needs _something_ to help him get to where he wants to be. It's up to Paul to make the final step.

And so he does.

Paul swallows with a dry click and tilts his head, approaching slowly, slowly, until his eyes cross from looking at Daryl's face and he has to close them. There's only the pounding rain and his pounding heart in his ears now, and the sound of both of them breathing.

He lifts his chin one last inch and presses a soft, infinitely gentle kiss on Daryl's trembling lips. And Daryl inhales sharply, almost a gasp, but leans into the touch all the same.

Paul can barely taste anything, barely feel anything except the pouring rain and the heat of Daryl's lips and body, but his knees still wobble. They separate and stare at each other for a moment, Paul unsure if this reality for an agonizing moment, but then Daryl ducks his head and kisses him first, and Paul loses all higher brain functions and just _feels_.

They kiss and kiss, clumsy and wet and cold and wonderful and mind-blowing, in the rain like the biggest of fucking clichés, but Paul doesn't care. Mouths slick from the water running down their faces, bodies pressed together, they tangle their fingers in sopping wet clothes and pull each other closer and closer into the embrace.

Paul sucks at Daryl's bottom lip gently, and the sound that vibrates through them both lights a fire deep in Paul's belly. He does it again, can't get enough, it's _never_ going to be enough, not with Daryl, not when he's addicted to this already.

They would probably stay there for hours, lost in each other and not caring about anything or anyone else, but Paul starts shivering so hard his teeth chatter.

Daryl pulls away with a breathless frown.

"C'mon," he says, and grabs Paul's hand to drag him toward his trailer.

Paul has no complaints whatsoever.

~*~

They change into dry clothes in silence, the only sounds the rustling of clothes and the plinking sound of the rain hitting the trailer. Daryl lends him a t-shirt, hoodie, and sweatpants, and they both dry their hair a bit, just so it doesn't soak their clothes again.

It's awkward, after that, Daryl sitting at the end of his bed and Paul wringing his hands a few steps away, in the doorway.

"Do you regret it?" Paul asks because _he has to_ , because he's in _so fucking deep_ already and he can't go any further without some kind of reassurance. It's difficult as it is, even thinking about separating from Daryl, but if this turns out to be just a heat of the moment thing...

Daryl looks at him, one of those rare times he keeps eye contact without hesitation or nervousness for a long time, and then he rasps a simple, "No".

Paul almost sags with relief.

"Oh," he says, smiling so wide his cheeks pull, content to just be looking at Daryl and knowing he feels the same way Paul does. Just for a moment.

It feels _holy-shit-_ amazing.

Paul can't stand not touching Daryl for long, though, not now, not with all that's happening, and he takes the two small steps forward until he's standing between Daryl's legs.

He lifts his hands, cups cold cheeks in shaking palms, and kisses Daryl with all the tenderness he has in his body.

Daryl's arms come up and he gingerly places his palms on Paul's hips, careful like Paul is made of spun glass. Like he's something priceless that has to be treated gently, and warmth spreads through Paul like a fiery blaze.

God, _Daryl._

For the thousandth time, Paul wonders what he did to deserve him.

He presses a few more soft, close-mouthed kisses to Daryl's lips and then another shiver rakes through him, goose bumps following in its wake.

Daryl pulls back a little and frowns, then says "C'mon" quietly and moves up on the bed.

Paul's heart stutters but he crawls after him, and once they're laying down Daryl covers them both with the extra blanket from the foot of the bed. It's much warmer this way, especially after they scoot a bit closer, and Paul sighs with contentment.

He stares at Daryl's blue eyes, so close and so beautiful, and can't resist kissing him again, a tiny peck to the tip of his nose. Daryl scrunches said nose but doesn't move otherwise, staring back at Paul, cheek resting on the back of his hand.

Paul scoots closer still and lifts his chin for a slow, sticky kiss to Daryl's top lip, and Daryl kisses back, a small pursing of lips. Their lips catch and slide into another kiss, and Paul can't help but smile.

There are no words to describe how _incandescently_ happy he is right now. He'd be buzzing around the room from the sheer high if he wasn't next to Daryl, right where he wants to be.

Still, the warmth spreading under the covers soon makes him lethargic, sleepiness taking over.

Daryl, too, if the growing slowness of their kisses is any indication.

They drop into sleep like that, two commas with heads and knees close, hands gripping each other's hoodies tight.

~*~

Paul drifts into consciousness slowly, gently, dreams clinging to his eyelashes and trying to pull him back down.

He feels like he slept long and deep, a healing type of rest that usually happens after an exhausting day. Still, Paul never met a bed he wanted to leave in his life, even when he manages to get more than twelve hours of slumber.

Just when he's decided to be lazy for once -- it's the winter break soon, anyway, there's no way he's get into serious trouble if he 'overslept' just one single time -- he realizes there's a strange pull on his pajamas.

He opens his eyes, only a little so he doesn't wake up entirely, and looks straight at Daryl's sleeping face, barely five inches from his face.

He's not in his pajamas.

He's not in his _bed_.

He's in _Daryl's_ bed.

_He's in Daryl's bed._

Last night's events flood into his head, slam into him rapidly and relentlessly, and Paul's breath stutters and hitches at the memories.

_Oh, wow._

That...

_All_ of that really happened.

They kissed.

_They kissed_ , oh my god, and kind of talked, and they're...

They're...

Well, together? Or something?

Whatever, it doesn't really matter, they'll figure it out.

What matters is that Daryl _cares_.

Ok, so Paul already knew Daryl cares. He'd never say it but _oh_ , he shows it in so many tiny ways.

By sharing his lunch with Paul when he inevitably forgets to bring one with him. By making him feel better, either like the thing with mint or by distracting him and bringing him out of his head. By listening to him talk, _really_ listening, and for some reason remembering everything Paul blabs about -- he knows because Daryl will mention something weeks later, and Paul ends up staring at him in shock every time.

But this is different. Now he knows Daryl wants to kiss him, and be more than just friends with him, and maybe even hold hands, or cuddle, or try some other stuff with...

Paul turns his head into the pillow and stifles a very embarrassing and not-at-all-manly noise, toes curling under the covers with sheer delight.

This is, hands down, _the best day ever_.

A million and one ideas swarm in Paul's head, all clamoring one over the other as the next thing to try out, all sounding wonderful, now that Daryl's the person he gets to try them out with.

He watches Daryl sleep for a long time, thinking and smiling helplessly, counting Daryl's eyelashes and tracing the gorgeous lines of his face with his eyes.

This just might be the best birthday he ever had, or at least remembers having, because he got the best present ever.

Paul smiles again and waits for Daryl to wake up.

It's no trouble at all.


	15. Chapter 15

So.

Paul.

...

...

Yeah.

Daryl kind of has no words for what happened.

What is, in fact, still going on with the two of them.

They're... boyfriends?

Maybe?

It wasn't discussed, not really, and Daryl doesn't know how to bring the subject up.

Paul hurried off that morning with a clumsy kiss to Daryl's cheek, running to change and get his books from Barrington so he can catch the bus they ride together half an hour later.

The ride to school was normal, as was almost the entire school day, and just when Daryl wanted to give up on figuring out this headache ( _heartache_ , a voice whispers in his head), a familiar arm snagged his shirt and pulled him into an empty classroom, and Paul was on him in seconds.

"Hi," Paul said with a wide smile before he pressed Daryl against the door with his entire body and latched onto his lips like a leech.

Daryl dropped his backpack and kissed back, wrapping his hands around Paul's waist and back, talking suddenly the last thing on his mind.

They made out that entire lunch break, lips red and swollen in their classes ten minutes after, stupid smiles on both their faces for the rest of the day.

~*~

And now, three days and at least seven different make-outs later but not much else changed from before, Daryl still has no idea what's going on.

Each and every stupid teen movie he'd ever seen made this look completely effortless -- they kiss, and in the next scene everyone knows everything, things are perfectly clear, and they all live happily ever after.

Daryl can now say with complete certainty that that is utter bullshit.

He knows _nothing_.

Ok, so he knows he likes Paul, and Paul likes him back, and they like kissing each other, but other than that?

Not a damn thing.

Why isn't there some kind of handbook? A 'stuff to do and ways to behave in a relationship' type manual? Where it's clearly stated what he should and shouldn't do, and how things should go, and, like, if it's normal that they're acting just like before only with added kissing and touching and stuff?

Daryl lips curl on their own, and he tries to scrounge some indignation to no avail.

...nope, it just doesn't bother him that much.

~*~

Daryl wakes up on the last day of school, goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and notices he's got a huge bruise on his neck.

_What...?_

When did he...?

He can't remember bumping into anything, or anyone hitting him. And it's a pretty painful spot, he'd remember.

He pokes at it warily, as if it's a trick of lighting, and then last night flashes in his mind, the way Paul sucked on his neck hard and long and a wave of tingles spread all over his body and he moaned embarrassingly loud and--

_Oh._

_Ohhhh._

He has a hickey on his neck.

A really obvious, can't-miss-it-from- _space_ hickey.

And he has to go to school today.

With this hickey.

_Oh, crap._

Daryl rubs at his eyes and tries to come up with some sort of solution. There's no way he's announcing his business to the entire school, no way in hell.

Maybe he should buy a scarf? Or a turtleneck?

People wear those, right?

The mental image of _himself_ wearing either of those makes him groan and drop his head against the mirror dejectedly.

"...ow," he whispers to himself.

Fuck it, he'll just flip up the collar of his flannel shirt and glare extra hard if anyone looks his way.

It worked so far.

~*~

School is out without any unwanted incidents, Paul's obnoxious smirking face and sneaky butt-pinches that made him jump notwithstanding, and then there's a whole winter break to look forward to.

And Daryl is looking forward to it, he _is_ , and he really wants to explore this new thing with Paul.

But he's in uncharted territory so he kind of... flounders a little.

Maybe overreacts a teeny, tiny bit.

He goes on a shopping spree.

More precisely, he buys a new pillow in a fit of panic, so he has two now. One for each side of the bed.

Then he buys a change of sheets, because, well.

Then an extra blanket, soft and blue and really big, since Paul is always cold. He never stops complaining about it, honestly, it's like he was born in the tropics.

And then an extra heater, but that's just common sense. What if the first one breaks down? Can't have Paul freeze in the trailer, maybe he won't come back next time because of it.

He knows he's acting really strange -- _what sort of panicked state makes people go shopping?_ \-- but he can't help it. It's like a nesting syndrome of some sort.

A really creepy, won't-let-you-leave nesting syndrome, and better not to think too closely about it, Daryl decides.

Resigned, he goes 'what the hell' and stocks up on gummi bears and soda, too. Paul's favorites, both of them, of course.

Since he's going down, best to go down for the whole thing.

~*~

He decides to invite Paul to the dinner Rick's having on Christmas Eve.

It's nothing too big, basically just Rick and Carl and Michonne, and Rick's ex-wife Lori and her husband Shane and their daughter, Judith, and Tara and her girlfriend Denise. Daryl knows them all, gets along with everyone pretty well, even though he's wary of Shane.

Shane is just... big. And looks a bit mean.

Still, the man never did anything to him, so he'll give him the benefit of the doubt based on Rick's and Michonne's judgment.

Daryl and Paul would be the last ones, rounding up the dinner at ten people. And it might seem a little too soon but they've been friends for months now, Daryl would have wanted Paul to meet the other important people in Daryl's life and vice versa, anyway. It would kill multiple flies with one stone, really, or however the saying goes. After that, there's only Sasha and Tyreese and Abraham left, and then everyone knows everyone.

Well, and Merle. But Merle is far away, will be for a long time still, so.

Mind made up, Daryl jumps out of bed and decides to go to Barrington immediately, unable to wait even a second longer to ask Paul to go.

~*~

Paul is still asleep, Kal tells him on his way to do some belated Christmas shopping, and of course he is, what was Daryl thinking? The tiny ninja can barely drag himself out of bed for _school_ every morning, it's a wonder he crawls out of there before noon during the break.

Still, no reason Daryl can't wake him up, day's a-wastin'.

He runs upstairs, skipping steps two by two, and enters the room silently, having figured out which one it is ages ago from Paul's offhand comments.

It's a relatively big room for just the two of them, and a bit old-fashioned. There are a couple of wardrobes on each side, to the left and right of the door, then beds up against opposite walls, followed by desks with bookshelves above, and a pair of windows with a balcony door between them right across the room. A large round rug covers the wooden floor in the middle of the room, with an obnoxious red pattern that hurts the eyes.

Paul's side is the right one, Daryl could tell by the books overflowing on the bookshelf and spilling onto the desk in stacks even if the boy himself wasn't curled up on his side and facing the room, still in dream-land.

His heart does a silly little skip when he sees Paul.

It's just...

It sounds stupid, even in Daryl's head, but Paul is beautiful like this.

He looks peaceful, full lips pink and relaxed, forehead smooth, long lashes casting a tiny shadow on the soft-looking skin under his eyes. He's breathing deeply and almost soundlessly, knees pulled up but both feet peeking from under the duvet.

Even his _toes_ are cute, what the hell?

Daryl comes closer silently, using everything he ever learned not to make a sound, and kneels next to the bed.

He gives himself a minute, _a mere minute_ to take Paul in, soak up as much of this foreign and lovely view as he can, and then he'll wake him up.

It's creepy as it is, him staring like this, but he can't help himself.

The minute passes way too quickly, and Daryl reluctantly lifts his head from his folded arms and slides his index finger lightly down the bridge of Paul's nose.

Said nose scrunches up a bit, but Paul doesn't wake up.

Next comes blowing a light breath over Paul's ear, and while that earns Daryl an entire twitch and slight head-roll into the pillows, Paul still doesn't wake up.

Half annoyed and half amused, Daryl in quick succession tries tickling the soles of Paul's feet, flicking his ear, and poking the side of his neck very gently.

Nothing (feet retreated under the duvet like a turtle hiding its head in its shell), nothing (another head-twitch), not--

Wait.

Did Paul's lip just twitch?

_It did._

That little--

"How long've you been awake, asshole?" Daryl says with a huff, but doesn't let him answer before attacking his side through the duvet with merciless tickles.

Paul spasms to the side and almost screeches with laughter, chanting _'nonononono'_ with eyes still closed.

"I'm asleep, I'm asleep, I swear," Paul giggles out.

Daryl grins but doesn't reply, just sneaks both hands under the duvet and continues tickling the warm, wriggling form of his little ninja.

Any advantage he had melts very quickly, though, as Paul opens his eyes and launches a counterattack on Daryl's armpits. He moves too far, though, and falls off the bed in a wildly-flailing tangle of limbs and bedding, and they end up rolling on the floor like two puppies.

"What are you doing here so early?" Paul asks while they're lying on the rug next to each other, trying to catch their breath after declaring truce.

"There's a dinner... A Christmas dinner, at Rick's," Daryl says, and turns his head to look at Paul.

"Okay?" Paul says with a small frown, looking unsure as to why that was such important news that Daryl came all the way here so early.

Daryl squirms a little. "Wanna come?"

"Oh," Paul says with wide eyes and in a small voice. He sits up and leans against the side of the bed, tucking the hair that fell over his eyes behind one ear nervously. "Um, yeah, sure."

"You sure? You don't have to if you don't wanna," Daryl says and sits up next to him.

"Yes, I'm sure, I'll go with you," Paul nods rapidly.

"Yeah?" Daryl asks again, looking at Paul sideways with a crooked grin.

Paul smiles back at him, one of those soft and immensely fond ones that make Daryl's heart go pitter-patter.

"Yeah," he whispers and leans in for a _hi_ , _how-are-you_ , _good-morning_ kiss.

It's lazy and slow, sweet, and then it heats, little by little, until they're kissing open-mouthed and wet, hands everywhere. Daryl loses track of time, space, anything that isn't Paul's lips, hands, skin, warmth.

Paul pushes at his shoulders suddenly, smirking at what's probably a very confused look on Daryl's face, and then there's a tiny ninja in his lap. Daryl gulps but leans back enough for Paul to settle comfortably, the weight and shape of him already familiar, just not in this position.

It's weird, still, having someone so close to him, burrowing in his space further and further until he can't figure out where he ends and Paul begins. He can feel the heat radiating from both their cores, imagines it's like a small sun keeping both of them safe.

Paul kisses him again, driving him to a boiling point rapidly, grinds down in a dirty move that makes Daryl bite off a whimper and grab at Paul's waist, press back into him urgently. His head spins with the speed of his blood rushing south, and it's always a surprise, how fast Paul can make him react. How much every part of his body is in tune and sensitive to every part of Paul's.

Daryl's never been very interested in sex before, watched shows where supermodel-looking twenty-somethings playing teenagers went at it like rabbits with disdain and disbelief, but Paul can make him lose his fucking mind in seconds.

Daryl is just about to say 'fuck it' and lay Paul out on the floor, can already imagine how he'd look sprawled against the rug, can already feel Paul's body against his, when a childish shout from outside the room smacks reality in their faces and reminds them where they are and just how not-private a place it is.

They pull back reluctantly, foreheads pressed together.

"Okay, we gotta go, pants on," Daryl says, and Paul sulks and flips him off but also climbs off his lap.

Daryl uses the few minutes it takes for Paul to get ready to cool down, dampen the fire burning low in his belly to embers.

_Not the time, body, settle down._

They set off for the woods soon to check on all the nests and baby animals Daryl keeps an eye on, tripping one another and jumping on each other's back for random piggyback rides, laughing all the way.

And if they hold hands while on the narrow path to Daryl's trailer later that afternoon, no matter how awkward it makes walking, no one sees them to comment on it anyway.


	16. Chapter 16

Paul is in heaven.

Literal, all-day-long, walking-on-air _heaven_.

He's sure he's creeping the people and the kids at Barrington out, what with all the smiling and the laughing and the skipping around like an overexcited elf, but he doesn't care. The glow of a new relationship is an almost visible halo around him, and add to that the fact that he really, really, _really_ likes Daryl?

He's never felt this way before.

It's possible this is just teenage hormones and a huge infatuation thing, but that doesn't really matter.

His feelings are his own, who can say they're not real, or strong enough, or _valid_?

No one.

(Paul likes that word, _valid_. A lot of shit would be resolved much easier if people accepted that everyone has a right to their feelings, their perception of things, their pain. That various traumas don't cancel each other out. That it's not a fucking competition, and that you should try to put yourself into other people's shoes before you open your mouth.)

And back to the point, there was enough shit in his life, in both their lives, for Paul to freely say 'fuck the haters' -- even if it's his own brain -- and just continue being happy.

So he does.

It feels _great_.

~*~

Daryl and Paul go to the Christmas dinner together, and it's one of the most nerve-wracking things Paul did in recent memory.

Make that ever, holy shit.

Because he never in a million years thought he'd have to worry about making a good impression on a bunch of adults who act as parents-slash-guardians-slash-older-siblings-slash-overprotective-friends of Daryl's. It just wasn't an option before, he never had to impress anybody who wasn't directly responsible for his immediate future, like a social worker or a principal.

And so he's nail-bitingly nervous, standing there on the doorstep of the Grimes' picket-fence family home, mind spinning in a million unpleasant directions.

Daryl, perceptive as always, notices immediately.

"Hey, you still don't gotta do this," he says quietly, looking at him from behind his usually messy bangs.

Paul shakes his head and says, "No, I want to, I just... What if they don't like me?"

Daryl bites his lip and pauses for a second, then shakes his head back. "Nah, they'll like you."

Well, that sounds fake but thanks.

"How do you know?"

"Because I like you," Daryl says, like it's that fucking simple.

Like that's all Paul needs to be, nothing else is required.

_'Paul Rovia, no expectations to meet since he's already liked by Daryl.'_

Paul smiles, strangely relieved though still not entirely convinced, and teases, "I like you, too. In case it wasn't obvious."

"Shuddup," Daryl says with a faint flush high on his cheeks.

Paul snickers and turns to stare at the door again.

_Enough._

He takes a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds and then lets it out, trying to push all the anxiety and stress with it.

"Okay, I'm ready," he nods, and squares his shoulders, stands a little taller.

Daryl knocks on the door.

~*~

An hour later, Paul looks up from his plate and studies all the nicely-dressed people seated around the table, talking and eating and laughing.

Rick is at the head of the table, a typical cop if Paul's ever seen one, it's obvious in the way he holds himself even out of uniform. Paul never trusted cops, the good seeds were as rare as finding a pot of gold these days, but there's a kindness around Rick's eyes that puts him at ease. He's polite, and welcoming, and treats his family and friends with patience and good humor. And with Daryl...

Rick _gets_ Daryl. It's nothing overt or obvious, tiny moments and a couple of quiet conversations, but Daryl responds to him like no one else. He's probably the closest to a father figure Daryl ever had, definitely more of a brother to him than Merle ever was. Paul breathes a bit easier at the knowledge that Daryl has a support system, that someone took care of him before Paul got here.

Michonne scared him stiff in the beginning, throwing sharp glances at Paul for seemingly endless minutes, and it took him way too long to realize she was just trying to read him. When she finally relaxed her face transformed and brightened into a gorgeous smile, an entirely different woman looking back at him. She turns out to be smart and funny with an affinity for sarcasm just like Paul, and he's a little bit in love with her already.

Rick's ex-wife, Lori, is _shrewd_. That's the first word that comes to mind when Paul looks her. She's a good mother to both Carl and Judith, the mother _type_ that makes every move look effortless and natural. Still, she seems a little too focused on her own issues, to the exclusion of everything else. He can see how Rick and her didn't work out. They're wired differently, that's all. Better off apart.

Paul decides he doesn't like Lori's husband Shane. There's glint in his eyes that says he'd be merciless if need be. That he'd be able to rationalize doing terrible things if they're done for 'a good cause', and that's one of the things Paul learned to be wary of. The ends do _not_ justify the means, let's never meet up again, thanks but no thanks.

Baby Judith is cute, Paul supposes, in that way babies always are. To be honest, he has no idea what to do with babies, or toddlers for that matter. Kids over the age of five are fine, they can be reasoned with or distracted. Babies are tiny, wailing, pooping machines that don't respond to any handling technique known to Paul. So he stays away from them.

Daryl, on the other hand, seems to be a favorite for both Judith and Carl. Judith falls asleep in his arms before dinner is even served, and Carl, seated across from Daryl, babbles at him in excited bursts. Daryl hums in agreement and interjects with a comment or two occasionally. It seems to be an old discussion, one they possibly had multiple times, judging by the way Daryl can keep it going with only half his attention trained on Carl.

Tara and Denise are adorable, plain and simple. Not a couple Paul would have expected, but they work. Tara's refreshingly blunt, her comments leaving the adults half snickering and half scolding her to watch her tongue, while Denise flails and bumbles awkwardly through conversations, even more nervous than Paul in the beginning. She's a sweet one, though, not a mean bone in her body. Her brain and the random jumps and connections it makes fascinates Paul, and he ends up chatting with her the most out of everyone present.

There are two surprise additions to the dinner, ones Daryl didn't even know about when Paul asked him. It's a woman named Carol and her three-year-old daughter Sophia. She recently left her abusive husband with Rick's help, and it shows in both hers and Sophia's shy behavior once you know what to look for. Starting a new life is difficult enough without spending holidays all alone in a strange place, so Rick did what he does best and folded them into his family, into this celebration.

Another point in his favor in Paul's book, and he's starting to suspect he'll leave this house tonight losing count of the final score.

All in all, it's an unlikely and eclectic mix of people, but they are a tight-knit group, or becoming one. Various relationships and unlikely friendships form as the evening progresses, Carol talking to Lori, Sophia giggling with Carl, Denise cracking an awkward joke that makes Daryl laugh.

The ties connecting everyone pull them even closer together, and Paul imagines seeing multi-colored strings wrapping and stretching in all directions.

What would be his own string going to Daryl pulses and vibrates, wraps around his chest and reaches, reaches, looking for its counterpart.

It finds it when Daryl looks back at him, eyes shining, a smile meant just for Paul lingering on his lips.

Their hands find each other under the table, fingers entwine and palms press together, and Paul's heart overflows with a million feelings, heavy and full.

Who would have thought he'd find something resembling a family in this stupid little town? A person all of his own, who gets him and likes him no matter how different they are? A friend who accepts him as he is, and adults that can actually be trusted?

It's mind-boggling. Unexpected. _Terrifying._

Paul clings tight to Daryl's hand and breathes, trying to control the sudden panic at the thought of having to give all of this up, being transferred again before school's end, before he ages out of the system.

It wouldn't matter, Paul tells himself. He'd come back here.

He'll _always_ come back to Daryl.

He'd find his way home.

~*~

There's no gift exchange, all participants very sternly warned weeks ago not to buy anything, and they all stuck to it, however reluctantly.

Daryl and Paul exchange their own presents later in Daryl's trailer, stuff they mentioned to each other at one time or another, having agreed not to go over ten bucks each.

It's not the items that matter, anyway, it's that they remembered. That they listened to each other, taken the time and effort to find something the other will really like, however small.

They fall asleep on the couch after a long make-out session, wrapped in the large blue blanket that Daryl pulled out from somewhere, Daryl's head on his chest as Paul cards his fingers through his hair.

As Christmases go, this one was top notch.

~*~

They spend New Year's at the viewpoint of Barrington, watching fireworks through open windows, bundled up into blankets with hot cocoa Paul scrounged up from the kitchen.

Daryl snuck in at around eleven and brought cookies from Carol, who has taken to mother-henning him with baked goods and food since the Christmas dinner. As they live within fifteen minutes' walk from each other, it's not very hard, and Daryl has so far woken up to a casserole, two types of cookies, and half a baked chicken with greens and potatoes on his doorstep.

Neither of them is complaining about it, the food delicious and warm and made with the best of intentions.

They make a wish at the stroke of midnight, Paul closing his eyes tight and repeating 'let me stay with Daryl _please_ ' in a loop at the universe, and seal it with a kiss.

The other kisses are just 'cause.

~*~

They go slow, when they're alone.

_Glacially_ slow.

Okay, so they got together like two weeks ago, it's not like Paul expected a lot, but his previous experiences with this pointed at a more... _physical_ relationship early on.

As in, sex first, ask questions later. Preferably no questions at all, if possible.

Not that he has a lot of experience to speak of: one asshole boyfriend who lasted a whole week before trying to pressure him into more than Paul wanted to do, and maybe two hook-ups with fumbling handjobs and blowjobs.

And he's aware that not every relationship is the same, and not every person is the same in different relationships, it's just that he thought Daryl would be a bit... rougher, maybe? Take more liberties with him?

He isn't.

Not at all, not for a single moment.

In fact, he continues treating Paul like he's precious, hands always gentle on his skin, wary of leaving a trace even when it's one Paul wants.

It's... nice.

No, nice isn't the word.

It's _devastating_.

It makes Paul fall for Daryl, more and more every time they touch, talk, fucking _breathe_ next to each other.

When Daryl kisses his belly, softly, and rests his head on his chest, listening to Paul's heartbeat until he dozes off. When they curl around each other, hands always burrowing under hoodies and t-shirts to keep that exhilarating skin-to-skin contact. When Paul wakes up to Daryl plastered to his back and his arms wrapped around Paul's waist, feeling safe and protected, Daryl a living shield between Paul and anything that could hurt him.

His heart keeps pulling at him, trying to tell him something, but Paul doesn't dare listen.

He's not ready.

_Not yet_ , he whispers to his bruised heart, _not yet._

_Be patient just a little more._

He's not sure what exactly he's waiting for. Doesn't want to think about it too closely.

He's not sure how much longer he can keep this up, either.

Still.

_Not yet._

_But soon._


	17. Chapter 17

School starts again on a gloomy day in January and it's... really good and really weird at the same time.

The bad part is that he doesn't get to be with Paul so much anymore. Their school schedules, jobs, and extracurricular activities keep them apart for most of the day, and even when they're together they're in _school_ , which means not much kissing and cuddling occurs.

It _sucks_.

So, _so_ bad.

The good part is that he gets to have Paul all for himself for a few hours every night. Sometimes it turns into the whole night, because Paul figured out a way to sneak out by fucking _parkouring_ up and down that ridiculous balcony at Barrington, and while Daryl's afraid he'll slip and break his damn neck every single time, it's worth the trouble.

They do their homework, watch TV or play Mario Kart, make out, _more_ than just make out (and that part is awesome and scary and exciting), or just hold each other.

Daryl likes those evenings the best, maybe even better than the make-outs and _the more_ s.

He loves touching Paul's skin, so soft and always smelling incredibly appealing. He loves cuddling and snuggling, hands on each other, soothing and gentle. He loves falling asleep and waking up to Paul, so very much. He started to reach for him every morning and during the night, in his sleep, and the disappointment when he only encounters cold sheets is awful.

He loves it when Paul reads to him, whatever random thing he's interested in this week. He loves hearing Paul talk, his mind working on such a different level than Daryl's. He loves the light that shines from his eyes, the enthusiasm that's so contagious.

He loves the quiet moments most of all, though. Both doing their thing next to each other, Daryl fiddling with something and Paul reading or writing, always touching in some way. Arms brushing or legs draped over each other or leaning on each other.

He can imagine doing the same thing for years to come, both of them older, maybe with different haircuts, maybe with beards, bigger and stronger.

It's scary, how much the thought appeals to him. How much he wants this wispy dream of a future to become reality.

It's stupid to hope, though, nothing ever comes of hope.

And nothing ever comes from teen romances, everybody knows that. Even Daryl has seen enough movies and real life relationships that fall apart the second the school year ends. The chances of this thing of theirs working out long-term are incredibly slim.

Still, his silly heart wants. It yearns, and reaches, and chants _Paul Paul Paul_ constantly, until the boy is in his sight, in his arms.

Daryl knows it all, and yet.

_And yet._

~*~

Sometime when Daryl wasn't looking, they started having lunch with Maggie, Glenn, Nabila, Aaron, Jerry, Beth, and a bunch of girls Daryl can't keep track of, they rotate so frequently.

It's incredibly weird.

People are _talking_ to Daryl now.

_Why_ are people talking to him is a mystery to Daryl. Paul is the friendly one, not him. Maggie and Glenn, too.

He tried glaring and grunting out non-answers at first, but someone always nudges him to answer (Paul, sitting to his left most often, and Maggie), or he can't help but correct some wrong fact (Glenn's particularly annoying way of luring him into conversation), or they just wait him out patiently until he gives up (Aaron, and Nabila in particular is good at it).

Or they're just so damn cheery he doesn't even try snapping (Jerry, of course).

So, Daryl talks now. A little. He has no other choice.

He'd be grumpier and more stubborn about it on principle alone, but Paul started to reward him with make-outs at random hidden spots when he's been particularly nice, and it's dirty play but also something Daryl can't resist at all.

Not that he tries that hard, because _make-outs_ , with _Paul_.

One would be hard-pressed to think of something better than that.

~*~

They're lying on the couch on a Saturday evening, Daryl sprawled on his back with his boyfriend using him as a body pillow, when Paul asks, "Daryl?"

"Yeah?" Daryl hums out absently.

"What... what do you think about coming out?"

Daryl freezes for a moment, blindsided, but then continues stroking his hand down Paul's back.

That... is a huge question.

"Comin' out to who?"

"I don't know. To friends. Rick, maybe. Maggie and Glenn?"

Daryl thinks about it carefully, and goes with the truth after a minute.

"I dunno. Haven't really thought 'bout it."

"Oh," Paul says and picks at the strings of Daryl's hoodie.

Daryl can't really figure anything out from his tone, and all he can see is the top of Paul's head and one of his hands, which doesn't help at all.

Though, he probably wouldn't ask about coming out if he didn't want to do it, right?

"Do you want to?" Daryl asks cautiously, trying to stay in his relaxed pose and not to make this A Thing.

He hates when things become A Thing.

"I don't know," Paul says. "Maybe? Not now, but... at some point?"

That sounds reasonable to Daryl. There's no way he can expect Paul to keep this thing between them a secret forever.

Hell, _Daryl_ doesn't want to hide this indefinitely. Living in fear is such a shitty existence, and he _just_ got rid of his main source of pain and nightmares. There is no way in hell he's locking himself back into that state willingly, and of his own doing.

But he still can't really imagine how that would go. Every time he tries, his brain just scrambles and skips to them being adults and strong enough and already 'out'.

Then again, he couldn't imagine being mere friends with Paul at the beginning of the school year, and look at him now.

Maybe Paul will know. He's much better at the imagination and reading for pleasure stuff than Daryl. He must know how people usually do this.

"How... what would we do?" Daryl asks, slipping a hand up Paul's T-shirt and dragging his short nails down Paul's spine.

"I guess we'd just tell them," Paul says with a shiver and a pleased hum at the touch.

That sounds... horrible.

And also very reasonable, dammit.

Just _tell them_? Like, open his mouth and tell their lunch crew that Paul and he are boyfriends and like each other very much?

Daryl shivers.

_Oh god._

It's simultaneously the best sentence ever, and he's also never telling it out loud to anyone, _ever_.

"Um," Daryl says, and Paul lifts his head and looks at him, chin resting on Daryl's chest.

_Oh._

What if Paul does it? He has no problems with talking, not even scary sentences like this one.

And Daryl can just kind of nod in agreement, and that will be the end of it.

Daryl does just that, nods and softly says, "Yeah, ok," and Paul beams at him.

Good choice, then. In more than one way.

Daryl smiles back, and oofs as Paul clambers up to kiss him breathless.

There is no talking for the rest of the night.

Daryl prefers it like that anyway.

~*~

They don't do Valentine's Day, because Paul rants about it so much during the weeks leading up to it (' _it's still January, for fuck's sake, what is this shit?_ ') that Daryl is afraid to even touch him on the actual day.

Not that Daryl wanted to celebrate Valentine's Day so bad, it always looked puke-inducingly fake in school and on TV, but he thought people _had_ to celebrate it once they were in a relationship. Like it was a contract of some sort you had to honor.

Guess not. Or at least, Paul and he make their own rules.

He likes the thought of that.

Daryl does get a kiss that evening, extra slow and sweet and deep, because they can't go more than a day without seeing each other or kissing or touching anymore.

He gets worried about it sometimes, that they're in too deep and it won't end well, because nothing in Daryl's life ever went well. But the only other option is to pull back, break up and live separate lives, and he honestly can't imagine doing that. It spins his body and mind into a dark place, thinking about life without Paul.

Yeah, sure, he'd survive, that's not in question at all. But it would be a grey sort of life, the tepid contentment he floated in for over a year, and it would be simply unbearable after the richness and variety Paul showed him these last few months.

Daryl shakes the thoughts off and pulls his boyfriend closer, kissing his forehead while the tiny ninja mumbles nonsense in his sleep.

No, there's no going back now.

Only forward.

~*~

Daryl starts teaching Paul how to cook about a month later, after he almost starves to death.

Okay, so he doesn't almost starve to death, he just forgets to pack a lunch, and Daryl manages not to see him the entire fucking day at school and stuff food in him, and then he goes to the gym and still doesn't eat anything, and by the time he finally appears at Daryl's place at 8 pm he falls onto the sandwich Daryl was about to eat like a man possessed.

And that's it, the last straw has fallen. Dropped. Whatever.

"You asshole," Daryl grunts out, actually a little pissed off at Paul not taking care of himself, and goes to heat up a soup Carol gave him the recipe for and make two more sandwiches.

Paul mumbles something unintelligible and tries to stuff another bite into his already-chipmunk'd mouth.

"Shut up and eat," Daryl snaps, as he stirs the soup and prepares bowls for them both.

The lessons start the next day, and after a few close calls with burners and pans when Paul gets ahead of himself and tries to do too much at once, it goes pretty well.

Paul is a creative kind of cook, which turns out to be both really great and really disastrous. Sure, he can come up with the most creative dishes even with his limited set of skills, but some things aren't meant to be mixed or put side-by-side in a pan, and not even Paul can justify it beyond a shrug and a sheepish 'I didn't really think it through'.

Daryl sighs and makes him clean every single pot and utensil he used in the making of current disaster, then prepares something simple for them.  And if Paul doesn't pout too much, he kisses him for effort, too.

It's important to reward good behavior.

So, needless to say, Daryl remains their main source of food, with Paul as the occasional flash of inspiration and brilliance when they're bored.

Paul even cooks dinner for the two of them on Daryl's birthday, fairly successfully, adding a perfect ending to the general festivities that started that morning with Rick and Michonne's cake (Carl's card included), and that continued with Carol's three kinds of cookies, Tara's very embarrassing box of gifts that shall not be discussed, and Maggie and Glenn's dorky singing at school with a stack of dark chocolates.

Daryl was blushing the entire goddamn day.

So, yeah. It all works out in the end.

~*~

It's a chilly Saturday afternoon in April, and Daryl and Paul stumble into the trailer, giggling and shoving each other like kids. Their disagreement on ice-cream flavors got out of hand somewhere between Barrington and the woods, and dissolved into 'I'm right' / 'No, I'm right' type of first-grader logic by the time they hit the trailer steps.

It's way too much fun for them to stop.

Daryl's just about to pull Paul to him and win this fight by kissing him breathless and making him forget all about it in the first place, when he sees Paul startle, eyes wide and locked onto something over Daryl's shoulder.

Daryl turns around and stumbles back in shock, heart beating so hard it hurts, all blood draining from his face.

"Hello, baby brother."

_Merle._


	18. Chapter 18

Daryl freezes in shock when he sees his brother, breathing shallow and rapid, and Paul has no freaking idea what to do.

Does he stay? Does he go?

He can't go, Daryl is a mess, Paul can't leave him like this.

Wait, can he punch this dickhead in the face?

 _Decisions, decisions_ , a tiny voice in his brain mocks.

"Who's this, huh?" Merle drawls, a grin on his face but eyes sharp and calculating.

Paul stills, an alarm in his lizard-brain going _danger, danger!_ and flashing an annoying red light, just as Daryl subtly moves to put himself in his brother's line of sight and in front of Paul.

"Just a friend," Daryl says, finally recovered enough to speak, and the words hurts for a moment but they're also a relief.

There is _no way_ Paul's ready to tell someone like Merle that he 'turned his little brother gay'. That's the stuff of fucking nightmares and basic take-care-of-yourself PSAs, holy crap.

Yeah, sure, Paul has training, and there are two of them and one of Merle. But Merle has _military_ training, and experience, and 50 pounds of muscle on both of them.

It would get ugly, and fast.

"Paul," he says over his pounding heart, just to take the attention off Daryl for a second. Give him more time to collect himself.

Daryl is really smart, and he knows his brother well. He'll know exactly how to handle him once the shock wears off a bit.

"He was just leavin'," Daryl adds, and Paul takes it as his cue.

"See you at school," Paul says, and tries to catch Daryl's eye to no avail. The other boy is completely focused on Merle.

Anxiety grips him hard but there's nothing else Paul can do here, only make this situation worse.

He goes.

~*~

Paul decides he doesn't like Merle.

It's not a surprise, he didn't like him even when he knew him only from the stories Daryl sometimes told, but the intensity of his dislike once he's met the man multiplied by a thousand in about 24 hours.

In fact, if Paul is completely honest -- he _loathes_ the man.

He is a shit human being who cares for nothing and no one else but himself, Daryl being a distant second. And even that love is conditional and abusive because, unlike Daryl, Merle soaked up and accepted all the horrible things their father did to them, using it on an emotional level.

Yes, he went through the same things Daryl did, but _Daryl_ is living proof that can't be used as an excuse.

Daryl is still a genuinely good and caring person, even after being abused, even after losing his entire family, even after life throws one horror after another at him.

No fucking apology in the world works once you compare the two of them side by side.

Merle stays for a week, some kind of leave because his unit is back from the tour and he's waiting for new deployment orders, and those seven days are the worst ones in Paul's recent memory.

And yes, okay, part of it is Paul having to stay away from Daryl.

It's horrible, but he can manage if for a short period of time. Even if he can't sleep as well as he's used to without Daryl anymore, tossing and turning and lying awake for ages. It sounds ridiculous but it's the honest truth.

No, what's the worst during those endless days is Merle's effect on Daryl, specifically on Daryl's behavior and peace of mind.

Daryl has reverted back to his beginning-of-the-year persona, surly and grumpy, jumping at the slightest provocation. He misses a few days and classes, though he does call it in at least, and their after-hours visits are completely out of the question.

Their usual make-outs at school are rapidly replaced with long hugs, Daryl clinging to him and breathing slow and deep, then kissing him almost desperately before walking off.

Paul keeps having to consciously unclench his fingers from Daryl's clothes, the desire to keep him close and safe so strong it overrides everything else.

He's completely at a loss what to do.

He's not sure if Rick knows about Merle's visit, but it's a small town, it's probably all over the gossip circles already. There's no way a trouble maker like Merle comes back to town and the police don't know about it, right?

But what could Rick do, anyway? It's not like he can stay with them at the trailer and keep an eye on Merle. And any sort of interference would have Merle complaining about police brutality and harassment without cause, and could land Rick in trouble with his superiors.

Paul sighs, rubs his burning eyes, and decides to spend a little extra time in the gym today.

This will pass, too. _It will._

Merle will leave, and everything can go back to the way it was.

 _Jesus_ , Paul can't wait.

This is such bullshit.

~*~

Last day of Merle's visit finally arrives, with Paul in his bedroom at Barrington trying to concentrate on homework and failing miserably, when Daryl barges in, breathing like he ran all the way there.

"What what what?" Paul says in rapid succession, rising to his feet and going to Daryl's side, a million horrible thoughts popping into his head immediately like they were just waiting for something to happen.

Daryl swallows and leans back on the closed door.

"I told 'im."

That's...

What?

"You told who what?" Paul repeats stupidly.

"I told Merle 'bout us."

He told Merle--

Paul's mind blinks and starts rebooting.

_What?!_

" _What?!_ Are you _insane_? No, wait, how are you still alive?" Paul starts patting him down, panicked he'll find a bleeding knife wound somewhere.

Daryl shakes his head and starts talking, and the amount of words he spills out would be shocking if Paul wasn't stuck on him having _already told his homicidal brother the two of them were together_.

Sometimes Paul doubts Daryl has any self-preservation instincts _at all_.

"No, 'm fine. He was bitchin' about something, I dunno even what anymore, and I snapped and yelled at 'im, and he yelled back, and then he started raggin' on you and I just _lost it_ and told him we weren't friends at all, we were more than that, and he went nuts and screamed some shit and went at me, ripped my shirt and everythin'--"

Merle went after Daryl and ripped--

Paul blinks, again.

Ok, that's it.

Merle Dixon is a dead man.

Paul has no idea how he'll manage it, and even less how he'll stay out of jail for it because there's no way he's getting separated from Daryl, but it's done.

_Done._

"--and then he seen them scars on my back and went quiet an' all, and I yelled he was just like our old man, and I then ran. And here I am."

Daryl finishes, exhaling the leftover air in his lungs like he's simultaneously exhausted and relieved.

Paul is speechless. Actually and entirely without words, because _what_?

Daryl didn't have to do any of this. Sure, it was an impulse decision to tell Merle they were friends, but Paul was all for not telling Merle. Like, _ever_. He didn't want Daryl to have to face a choice that Merle would inevitably force him to make.

Because Paul would never make Daryl choose between them. He'll be here no matter what. He's already at peace with it.

_Fuck._

He pulls Daryl into his arms, standing on tip-toes, kissing every part of his beloved face that he can reach.

He can't think, with Daryl, sometimes. The choices he makes are so...

"Are you ok, oh my god," Paul mutters into Daryl's neck, kissing the soft skin beneath his lips and tightening his embrace, one hand cradling the back of Daryl's head gently. Daryl nods into Paul's shoulder, clinging back just as hard.

A minute passes, and then a knock on the door separates them, one of the kids announcing there's some guy here to see Daryl.

Daryl whips his head up and looks at Paul with wide eyes.

There's only one person it could be.

"You ain't gotta--" Daryl starts, and Paul abruptly has no patience for this shit. For that _dickhead_ who dares to call himself a brother to Daryl.

Daryl deserves _the fucking world_ , not _Merle_. Paul wouldn't wish Merle on anyone.

"No, shut up, let's go," he says, and pulls Daryl out of the room.

"Hey," Merle says when they reach Barrington's entryway, hands on hips and eyeing Paul with suspicion.

Paul raises his chin, staring him down defiantly from his spot at Daryl's left side.

There's no way he's backing down now, he's still thinking of fucking poisoning this asshole.

 _Who the_ fuck _does he think he is?_

Silence descends, neither Daryl nor Paul having anything to say to Merle. In a stroke of improbable luck, no one is in the entryway, their confrontation private.

Paul can see Daryl's face out of the corner of his eye, and he looks nervous but his shoulders are set, body straight, eyes up.

Paul has never been more proud of him, it's like a fire burning inside his chest.

It takes guts to stand up to bullies and the entire world, but it takes a helluva lot more than that to stand up to your family. Even more if you love them, if they have been the only source of even the tiniest shreds of good and kindness in your life for years.

Merle was everything to Daryl, for so long. His cool, older brother, his protector, his lifeline.

Sure, he was also gone for half of Daryl's lifetime, but you don't forget _a brother_. And Daryl, especially, stays loyal to the end. No matter the abuse heaped on him.

"I gotta go back, just came to say goodbye," Merle says.

"Okay."

"Look, that shit you were talkin' 'bout--"

"No. No, you either accept 'that shit' or don't bother comin' back. Okay?" Daryl says, forceful and just a tiny bit shaky.

"Daryl, you ain't..." Merle tries, and Paul can see a mile away it won't be good, whatever he wants to say.

" _No_ ," Daryl says again, standing his ground. "I said what I had to say. 's your choice now."

Merle looks at Daryl, and there's a hint of something in his eyes, a desperation clawing through, regret lurking in a corner...

_Oh._

Merle is actually scared of losing Daryl.

...okay. They can work with this.

Merle is a piece of shit but he does love Daryl, and Daryl loves him back fiercely.

"See you next time," Paul interjects, jerking both brothers out of their stare-down. He moves to stand next to Daryl, close enough to feel his body heat but not touching.

It's difficult to say the next words because he doesn't really want to lay eyes on Merle Dixon _ever again_ , but he will. He has to. For Daryl.

"When you have leave. See you then. Be safe."

Merle looks at him, lip almost curling in disgust but reins it in at the last second.

"Yeah," he grumbles out.

"Be safe," Daryl echoes quietly, but doesn't move from his spot.

Merle turns around and leaves.

~*~

Considering his mind-set and the week he's had, that _Daryl_ 's had, it's no wonder Paul gets hurt at the gym.

It's almost ten days after Merle left, and Paul can safely say no one in Daryl's circle of adopted family recovered from the visit yet.

Daryl went to the weekly dinner on Sunday at Rick and Michonne's and came back pale but with shoulders loose and less burdened. Tara's visits during patrol doubled, Carol's left them more food than even their teenage metabolisms can go through, and even Shane dropped by, though that freaked them out more than it helped.

Still, it's the thought that counts. And the cookies from Lori.

They started to spend their evenings on the couch or in bed, wrapped around each other tight, making up for lost time. Paul would be a lot happier about it if Daryl's head wasn't still spinning, reflexes on high alert.

Nothing Paul tried to do so far helps, and it looks like he has to let this play out and just be there for Daryl. It's no problem, but he feels so helpless, and so fucking useless.

It fucking _sucks_.

Hence, Paul's injury.

It's nothing serious -- he got into his own head too much, didn't keep track of what was going on, and ran into a fist that knocked him straight down. The girl he was sparring with, Dianne, was very apologetic and helped him to the staff room.

He's lying on the couch with a cool rag over his eyes when the door opens, rapid footsteps that kind of sound like Daryl's approaching.

Daryl, who's supposed to be at work right now. Paul sent him a text saying he'll be late tonight, but that's not for a few hours yet, right?

Did he get hit so hard he started losing time and hallucinating?

Paul lifts the rag.

Yep, Daryl left work and raced half-way across town, it seems.

"Daryl, I'm fi--"

He doesn't get to finish because Daryl drops to his knees by the couch and wraps Paul in a desperate hug, making him drop the rag in surprise.

_Oh, Daryl._

"Hey, it's okay, I'm fine," Paul whispers, hugging back hard and rubbing a hand down Daryl's spine. "Just an accident, no serious injury."

Daryl shakes his head silently and buries his face into the crook of Paul's neck.

_What...?_

Okay, Paul is getting more and more worried by the moment.

"Daryl, what's wrong, tell me," he tries, and Daryl inhales and turns his head to the side, resting it on Paul's shoulder.

"Ever since... Ever since Merle left, I've been afraid he's gonna come back. Find you. Hurt you," Daryl chokes out the last bit, a tremor in his limbs.

Paul's breath catches, and he runs a hand through Daryl's dark hair, fingers untangling unruly knots as Daryl continues talking.

"I know what he can do, I've seen 'im do it. Keep seein' you instead you, head split open, bleedin' out on the street somewhere.... I can't..."

Paul can feel the half-sob run through Daryl's body and his heart stutters with a sympathetic ache.

He kisses the top of Daryl's head and says, with utter conviction, "Daryl, listen to me. No one is going to hurt me, I promise."

"You can't--"

" _I promise_. I can take care of myself, I told you already. You know that. So don't think about that shit, get it out of your head, okay? I know it's easier said than done but please, please _try_."

Life fucking owes them a shit-ton of good karma right now, including peace and quiet. It better fucking step up.

Daryl stays quiet for a minute, probably mulling Paul's words over and calming himself from the scare, and then nods.

"Okay," he says, pulls back and sits on his heels. His eyes are a little red and still have dark rings under them, but he's starting to look like the pre-Merle's visit Daryl again.

_Finally._

Paul sits up, too, cups Daryl's cheeks and kisses him softly.

"Okay," he repeats after Daryl, and smiles.

"Let's go home."


	19. Chapter 19

After Merle's visit and Paul's accident, Daryl is having a bit of a hard time.

Sure, he's feeling better than he was a few weeks ago, and life went back to normal like there was no interruption at all, but he's still... unsettled.

Those seven days Merle was around were at turns uncomfortable and scary as shit, with a few short outings to seedy bars and meals at the local diner or food truck mixed in. And isn't that a kick in the gut, that Daryl was more scared than happy his own flesh and blood was back in town.

They didn't talk much, besides Merle sharing a few war stories while drinking a beer in front of the TV, like their old man used to do. And while the stories were funny, Merle didn't seem too happy in general. He wasn't before, either, but there was a dark and haunted look in his eyes now, one that scared Daryl shitless.

In fact, that was the reason he ran to Barrington when he and Merle went at it. He didn't tell Paul even half of the shit Merle spewed out as he ranted like a man possessed, eyes wild and unhinged, before ripping Daryl's shirt off in an attempt to beat the shit out of him.

Why and how seeing the scars stopped him, Daryl has no clue, but for once they were useful and not ugly mementos. Merle might have seriously hurt him if he continued spiraling into the rage pit.

It ended up fine, though. Mostly because of Paul.

Daryl can't believe how patient and understanding Paul was the entire time. Still is, in fact. He read his mind a thousand times, it seems, been a silent support, did just what Daryl needed when he needed it.

He's so incredibly lucky to have Paul in his life. It's like the tiny ninja appeared to off-set everything awful that happened to him so far, make up for all the scars and bruises.

Whoever sent him, Daryl will make sure to cherish and take care of him in return just like he deserves.

~*~

It takes some time to get back into the swing of things, but they do.

_Daryl_ does.

Little by little he relaxes, starts believing everything will be fine again.

What ends up snapping him of his funk completely is something unexpected -- Paul gets a panic attack.

It's pure luck he's at Daryl's place at the time, during one of the ever so frequent sleepovers they have.

(Daryl carefully doesn't think about the fact that they sleep together more days a week than apart. It's giving him all sorts of Feelings. Too-much-too-fast types of Feelings.)

He wakes up from a dead sleep to wheezing, someone breathing way too fast and labored, and it takes him a few precious seconds to shake off the sleepiness and realize it's Paul.

"What, no, _breathe_ , come on," Daryl babbles, half-asleep and panicking himself.

"Sorry," Paul gasps out, and of course the asshole will start apologizing for having a fucking panic attack.

Daryl stumbles out of bed to get a paper bag, having bought an entire stack when Paul told him about his attacks. He returns and pushes one at Paul, helping him sit up and lean against the headboard.

"Thoughts -- ran -- off -- got -- anxious," he manages to force out between puffs of 'air' from the bag.

Daryl has no idea why the stupid thing helps but it does, and he's so incredibly grateful for that.

Once the worst has passed Daryl bundles them both into blankets until they're in a fluffy cocoon, and wraps his arms tight around his boyfriend.

"Thanks," Paul murmurs, half-asleep and exhausted, head on Daryl's shoulder. He worms his hand under Daryl's clothes and traces the scars on his back gently, like he always does when falling asleep.

Daryl kisses his forehead and pulls him even closer, until he can feel Paul's even breathing on his chest and belly.

"Anytime."

 ~*~

On Tuesday it's just Glenn and him at the lunch table, Maggie and Paul and Nabila coming from the other side of the building so it takes more time, and the rest probably scattered, Daryl doesn't really keep track.

He's looking around the cafeteria idly and drumming his fingers on the tabletop when he sees that dick who tried to beat up Paul out of the corner of his eye, standing with his friends around some kid.

It's that terrified freshman who bumped into him in the beginning of the school year. Na... Neh... No...ah?

Yeah, Noah.

He looks just as scared now as he did then, and Daryl narrows his eyes, temper rising in a blink of an eye.

Oh, there's no way in hell he's letting these dickheads bully someone else and create another victim. Daryl's sick of people stepping on other, less fortunate people, like the fact that they managed to be born in a white, rich family is an accomplishment.

It isn't. It's just the luck of the draw.

Besides, he still has to get his pound of flesh for Paul's cuts and bruises.

He pushes off the table and strides away rapidly, ignoring Glenn's surprised, "Daryl, what--" and the scramble to follow him after figuring out what's happening.

"Back off the kid," Daryl growls once he reaches the group, and the Dickhead Squad turns around together like sharks smelling blood.

They probably practiced that in the mirror, fucking posers.

"Why, what're you gonna do about it?"

Daryl takes a step forward until he's in the Lead Dickhead's face, and though he's an inch shorter, Lead Dick flinches back a step.

_Good._

"I said. Back. Off."

"What's it to you? Are you one of _them_ , too?"

They laugh like a pack of hyenas, drawing the attention of the nearest tables.

"For the last time, I'm not gay," a small voice interjects but no one listens.

Daryl's blood boils.

This is Merle all over again. And he survived that, he's _free_ of that, and there's no way he's letting this go.

He will stomp their faces into the ground if he has to.

"And what if I am?"

A hush falls over the cafeteria, and Daryl _feels_ the surprise coming off Glenn behind him. He just doesn't know if it's because of what he said, or because he actually said it out loud, in the freaking cafeteria of all places.

"What?" the main dickhead guffaws and turns to his friends, "You hear this?"

Dread starts to rise in Daryl, hair on the back of his neck standing up, unease at being the center of attention going off the charts.

He has just enough time to start to waver, to feel foolish and horribly alone for a second (what was he _thinking_ , why the fuck did he feel the need to talk to them, let alone reveal anything about himself to these useless pieces of shit), when a hand slides into his, a familiar warmth appearing at his side.

Daryl grips the hand tight, relief spreading like a wave through his entire body.

"Do we have a problem here?" Paul asks, voice calm but cold like the northern wind.

Watching the blood drain from their faces is hilarious. The fact that Paul is a pixie-looking guy almost half their weight and size makes the scene even funnier, and Daryl grins, teeth bared in savage amusement.

_That's my boyfriend._

And then another voice pipes up from behind Daryl.

"Yeah, you wanna have words?"

Maggie.

"Should have figured you'll add homophobia to your repertoire. You already have racism down."

Glenn.

"I thought bullying was forbidden. Wonder what the principal will say about this?"

Aaron.

"Come on, let's go," Nabila says, pushing to the front and rolling up her sleeves.

Daryl looks around in shock and sees what looks like the entire lunch group standing behind the two of them, all the girls that rotate too, fanned out like a fucking royal guard.

It's surreal as fuck.

And it looks completely fucking _badass_.

Daryl turns back to the Dick Squad and raises his eyebrows mockingly, chin up and a quip already on his lips, but the stand-off is broken by one of the teachers poking their head into the cafeteria and grumbling "What's going on?" in a completely disinterested tone.

The jocks disappear within seconds in an anticlimactic cloud of dust, and the group relaxes and walks back to their usual lunch table.

The hum of various conversations starting back up again fills the air, voices loud and excited and scandalized, but Daryl doesn't register any of it.

And by the looks of it, neither does Paul. His eyes are wide when they meet Daryl's, and he can read the insecurity and incredulity in his blue-green gaze, even after the display they just witnessed.

No, that won't do.

Daryl takes Paul's hand back in his and smiles, hoping the reassurance and declaration of intent will come through loud and clear.

Paul smiles back and nods, and they stay like that until the bell rings, hands clasped on the table between them in plain view, their friends chatting and laughing all around them.

~*~

"Hey," Paul says quietly that night against the nape of Daryl's neck, their still entwined hands cradled against Daryl's chest. They can't seem to let go.

"Yeah?"

"I was so proud of you today."

Daryl doesn't reply, just presses a kiss against Paul's knuckles and settles back into his embrace, smiling into the dark.

~*~

The last month of school is a free-for-all.

It's like all the brakes have disappeared, all possible bans have been lifted, all hesitation between them has vanished into thin air.

They get caught making out by what's probably half the school at one point or another, in all sorts of places -- classrooms, closets, bathrooms, under staircases, behind the school, and so on, and so on.

Trying to control themselves and not to be in anyone's face lasts for all of a week before they say 'fuck it' and make out on the picnic tables at lunch, Paul seated and Daryl snug between his legs, lips fused together. Their friends ignore them for a while and then separate them to eat something, grumbling under their breath something about unbearable hangry boys.

The tension builds steadily, the last of the walls between them crumbling into dust, and it all culminates on a warm evening when the air starts smelling like summer.

They talked about it before, of course, going all the way. A few times, even.

Paul had read up on prep and positions and everything relevant or even tangentially related that caught his eye, and babbled at Daryl about it until they were both red in the face and couldn't look at each other for the rest of the day.

Still, communication and consent is very important, Paul insisted, and if they wanted to do this -- not that they have to, some couples never do! -- then they had to be informed.

They both survived those talks without spontaneously combusting, and here they are, nervous and excited in equal measure.

It's awkward and silly and wonderful, and they giggle themselves out of the 'serious mood' a bunch of times.

Paul kisses Daryl's scars reverently, knowing them all by heart by now. It makes Daryl's heart ache, this feeling of being known and loved despite all the ugliness written on his skin. He even suspects Paul doesn't see it as ugliness, however mind-boggling that sounds to him.

Daryl pulls Paul close, slides his palms down Paul's sides and hips, and tangles his fingers in the golden-brown strands he loves so much.

They kiss constantly, touch everywhere, and it's not perfect in the least but it's _them_.

They're a shaky mess by the end of it, a little shell-shocked but happy, clinging to one another exhaustedly.

It gets better the second time, only a few hours later, both of them fast learners and already familiar with each other's bodies. This is just another dimension of this thing they have between them, this emotion that neither can name for the fear of losing it again.

Besides, they're in no hurry. Practice makes perfect, right?

They have nothing but time in front of them.


	20. Chapter 20

Three years after Daryl's father dies, Paul and Daryl have a routine.

Paul teaches self-defense and martial arts classes at the gym in the evenings, and volunteers at the library when he can. He likes both his jobs and he's really good at them, but he's not quite sure he sees himself doing either long-term.

Not like Daryl, who works full time at the garage - Abraham gradually letting him take on more and more serious projects - and takes some extra shifts at the sports goods store when he can. He's already found his calling in life, and Paul gets jealous of it sometimes, that peace of mind that comes with being right where you want to be. There's a swarm of bees that lives in Paul's mind, and he's always finding something different to try and explore every day, but he also ultimately grows bored of everything. He's kind of scared that means he'll never find his One Thing, and that he'll search forever and grow old and bitter.

Daryl tells him he's stressing about nothing, and that he can do whatever he wants.

Paul jumps him while he's in his overalls, growing that one bit more in love with him like he does every single day, and they get grease everywhere.

He regrets nothing.

Merle hasn't come for a return visit yet but he keeps in touch with Daryl. It's still a strained and awkward situation, sometimes ending up with abruptly cut-off phone calls or Skype sessions and Daryl in a dark mood for a few days, but they're both trying. Paul spends the low days just staying close to Daryl. He can't do much else, really.

Spending time with their makeshift family helps, though. Especially since Rick and Michonne are expecting a baby, and Daryl is beyond excited about it -- it's adorable as fuck to watch. Carl is, too, it seems like having a second sibling is more than fine with him. Paul is happy for them all, and already resigned to helping Daryl with babysitting for the foreseeable future.

He's not so happy about the poop and the puke.

Ugh, babies.

Tara and Denise got engaged, and are talking about fostering a kid. Probably someone from Barrington House, maybe a pre-teen or a teenager. Tara has that older sister vibe that the older kids would connect to easily, and Denise is all fluff. They would be good at putting at ease kids that come from abusive environments. Paul knows he would have been over the moon if he had the chance to hang out with them while he still lived at Barrington. Every little bit matters for kids like them.

Carol has started dating Ezekiel, a sweet man that used to work in a zoo and tells the most fascinating stories about animals. Sofia has taken an immediate shine to him, too, which is probably why Carol agreed to a date at all. Daryl was skeptical in the beginning but Paul saw something good in the man, and it looks like he was right. It doesn't hurt that he has an orange-and-white-and-black-striped kitten called Shiva that he carries everywhere with him. That is unbearable levels of cute right there.

Maggie and Glenn are still in town, attending the nearest community college, Maggie studying to be a veterinarian and Glenn an elementary school teacher. They're just as moony-eyed over each other as they were on the first day, one of those perfect couples everyone looks up to that actually lives up to all the hype. They go on double dates now, the four of them, even though Daryl threatened to never talk to any of them in public again if they call them that.

Nabila got accepted into MIT's Microbiology program, and isn't around as much but comes home during breaks and holidays. She talks about a lot of stuff that goes over Paul's head but he loves listening to her, and she's his favorite for giving no-nonsense advice. Her private life is a bit more of a mystery but Paul has known she's pan since high school, and hopes she finds her person soon.

Aaron met a guy named Eric a few months ago and declared to their group of friends after the very first date that they'll get married and buy a house together. Of course, he didn't tell _Eric_ that, and now everyone's playing the 'don't be overly familiar with Eric or we'll scare him off' game each time they hang out, while Aaron glares at them all overprotectively. Daryl teases the shit out of him for it, it's hilarious.

Paul has also finally met Cyndie, a political sciences major and social issues activist, and he has to admit they're pretty badass. Eduardo is over the moon for them still, and already ended up arrested more than once on various protests. Paul's been with them a couple of times and he had a blast. They're all lucky Rick or Tara or Shane usually get stuck with processing them, the rest of the force exasperated and totally out of patience for their weekly crusades. Paul is sure the two of them will eventually wear down this entire town, and drag it kicking and screaming into something resembling tolerance and enlightenment. Honestly, he can't wait.

Their group of friends has also expanded, and now includes Dianne (who trains with Paul and talks bows with Daryl), and Heath (who talks philosophy with Paul at the library -- he studies History at the same college Maggie and Glenn attend -- and is the touchiest ace Paul has ever met; seriously, the man is always good for a hug or a cuddle session), and Noah and Beth (albeit distantly, since they're still in high school -- they've recently started dating and are cute as fuck).

And as for Paul and Daryl, well.

Paul moved into the trailer with Daryl after ageing out of the system, at the end of the school year. It was a pretty gutsy, nerve-wracking move, preceded by a long discussion with Rick and Michonne and Lori and Carol, all adults arguing that it was too soon and they were way too young.

Denise and Tara, surprisingly, were on their side, telling the others to stop projecting their issues on the boys and let them live.

Daryl and Paul went in prepared, presented a united front and talked about finances and responsibility and connection and common sense, and finally managed to convince everyone they could and _should_ do this.

More checks and balances were put into place, the adults invested into their wellbeing now counting in double digits. The boys accepted all their conditions with minimal grumbling and whining, knowing they come from a place of love and caring rather than petty control.

Paul brings his two bags to Daryl's trailer on a warm summer day, and it officially becomes _their_ trailer, their home, their future and freedom.

Neither of them ever regrets it.

They still love spending time together. They've arranged so they're off work at the same time, they shop together once a week, they walk in the woods together, hang out with their friends together -- and on once-in-a-blue-moon days when they get sick of each other, they spend the day apart, inevitably missing each other like codependent little shits inside five or six hours.

They try to push doing laundry off on one another, both hating it with a passion, and end up sharing that duty, somehow feeling better if they're both suffering at the same time.

Daryl cooks, mostly, but Paul is developing a pretty good knack for it, too. When he's not feeling like experimenting, anyway, then Daryl distracts him and takes over. Paul suspects he's stifling his creativity for plebeian reasons like 'taste combinations' and 'edible dinners', but can't prove anything yet.

They go to dinners at Rick's twice a month, the both of them now, still keeping the tradition.

And they fight, of course. Playfully, about anything and everything, or seriously, when life and fears and frustrations get to them. They always make up within hours, neither able to keep a grudge longer than that.

Daryl tries to grow a beard at one point and only succeeds in getting patches of fuzz, and Paul laughs himself silly at the sight. Not that he has any more luck, he can grow only half a mustache. Maybe they'll try again when they're older.

Paul's hair is down past his shoulders now, and Daryl developed a serious fascination with braiding it and running his fingers through it when they're cuddling. Paul is thinking of not cutting it short ever again, addicted to the touch and their lazy evenings.

So, needless to say, things are going good.

But that doesn't mean this is where they end.

Maybe they'll go back to school. They talked about taking a few classes at the community college at some point, though Paul thinks Daryl is the one who would be a better fit for that. Paul's interests are so varied and random, it's not very likely anything would be able to hold his attention for longer than a few months.

They might move to a larger city at some point, but they also might stay in this small town forever. Their family and friends are here, after all, and both of them value that far more than some imaginary 'better life' in a concrete jungle.

Still, it's a possibility they aren't discounting.

Hell, maybe they'll grow apart and break up, who knows? Teen romances rarely have a long life. And even if they did, Paul thinks they would stay in touch, try to keep their friendship alive. He never wants to live a life without Daryl in it again, in whatever shape or form he can have him.

Still, considering all they've been through, there is little doubt in Paul's mind that they'll be one of the exceptions.

After all, the universe owes them a shit ton, and this is the best way to pay back.

To let them both keep each other.

Their best friend, their love, their heart and comfort.

Their home.

~*~

"Hey."

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"Love you, too."

 

\- THE BEGINNING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone that read, or left a kudos, or a comment, or a series of comments - thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart. You're one of the reasons I write, and I cherish every single one of you. Thanks for coming along on this journey with me, you all made it so much more fun than I could have ever even imagined it could be. :)
> 
> And to my fellow Desus chatterboxes: you're my inspiration and support, I love you all.
> 
> <3


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